Koumajutsu: The Coming of Bagan
by C. L. Werner
Summary: The Scourge of the Super-saurs has ended and an ancient evil has returned to complete the destruction of Tokyo, once and for all!
1. Default Chapter

Koumajutsu ****

Koumajutsu

The Coming of Bagan

By C. L. Werner

Prologue:

It was an anachronism; a forgotten shard of the ancient past surrounded by the glittering towers of a modern megalopolis. A barren place, a place of bare, dead earth. Stone walls concealed it from the people of the city, but most knew it was there and offered prayers at a small shrine just beyond the stone walls. Few had ever seen over those walls, seen the huge mound of earth and stone that marked the final resting place of the head of Lord MasakadoTaira.

A thousand years had passed since Masakado had led a revolution and attempted to establish an independent state in central Japan. The uprising had been subdued and Masakado had been beheaded. The ancient spirit of Masakado had come to reside in this mound, the burial site of his head. When he had died, the Emperor of Dirt had vowed vengeance. But now, ten centuries later, Lord Masakado had come to be worshipped by millions as the guardian spirit of Tokyo. As dire as some of the calamities that have struck the great city in the past, many believe that far worse will come upon them should the grave of Masakado Taira be disturbed.

Only one man in all of history had been so bold as to confront the ancient spirit and try to put an end to its slumber. The result had been the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, a disaster that had virtually annihilated Tokyo. 

A tall, gaunt figure stood before the crumbling mound. The figure was garbed in the green uniform of an Imperial Army lieutenant, a long green cape covering his shoulders and back like a shroud. Inhuman eyes burned from beneath the brim of his peaked officer's cap. Strange words slithered from the man's lips, words in an ancient and unholy tongue. The man gestured with his white-gloved hands, the white fabric of each glove marked by a black five-pointed star. As the sorcerer's incantation progressed, the crumbling mound of earth began to shake violently, eerie blue light escaping the living earth. Still, the demon continued to work his magic.

The ancient burial mound trembled, small stones falling from its ridge. The necromancer did not seem to notice when wisps of blue, mist-like light crawled from the mound and sank into the roots of a dead tree standing beside Masakado's tomb. He did not look up as the tree's withered branches shot towards him, their emaciated limbs reaching for his body like a rain of spears. The necromancer did not pay any attention to the coming attack. The branches shot towards the uniformed body only to shatter upon an invisible shell of energy two feet away from the demon's body. The wailing moan of a lost soul shuddered through the night as the blue mist evaporated.

'Why do you defy me?' the necromancer snarled through clenched lips. 'Has your slumber been so long that you have forgotten your vow of retribution? Rise, Masakado, and claim your vengeance, and mine!' The sorcerer's litany became still more forceful, his hand gestures more rapid. A smile tugged at the corners of the demon's mouth as he saw a red light begin to bleed from the cracked surface of the burial mound. The light began to coalesce into a shape, the apparition of a figure wearing ancient samurai armor astride a giant white horse. The steed's flesh was shriveled and broken, rot coursing through its hide. The figure astride the steed was no less horrible, dozens of arrows had pierced the armor and no head rose from above its shoulders. The necromancer exulted when he saw the manifestation. Soon, soon he would awaken the spirit of Masakado Taira.

Just as abruptly as it had formed, the apparition dissipated. The churning earth of Masakado's tomb grew quiet once more, the eerie blue light seeping back into the broken ground. The necromancer rose from his crouch, snarling a cry of rage. His eyes focused upon the red parchment that had appeared between himself and the grave, noting the spell inscribed upon it. The necromancer turned, glaring at the man he knew to be standing behind him.

'Who seeks damnation by disturbing the rest of Lord Masakado?' the second man challenged the necromancer. The new arrival was much shorter than the uniformed necromancer, slightly less than five feet tall. The man was dressed in the white habit of a Shinto priest, though there were slight variations in the costume which declared him to be something else entirely. The man's head was shaven, though a thick moustache crouched upon his upper lip. The man's bright, blue eyes focused upon the burning embers of the sorcerer's, met that terrible gaze, and did not shrink from it.

'Who are you to entertain death by interfering with me?' the necromancer challenged back. A gloved hand reached beneath the folds of the cape and produced a slip of black parchment, like an over-sized playing card, its dark surface emblazoned with a red pentagram. The necromancer hurled the card at the other man. Mid-way between the two men, the card began to twist and contort, becoming a fanged and winged creature, as much shark as it was bird. The small shape-shifter sailed towards the man in white, its fangs snapping in anticipation. The man in white made a gesture with his hands and a bolt of burning, searing light crashed into the oncoming demon. The shape-shifter fled from the parchment, leaving the slip of paper to return to its card-like shape. The card fluttered down to earth to rest at the feet of the white wizard. The old man reached down and retrieved the parchment, examining its surface.

'This is the _Dooman Seiman_,' he said, pointing at the pentagram. 'Then you are Kato Yasunori.'

'If it pleases you to know the title of your destroyer,' Kato sneered, bowing slightly as the wizard said his name.

'I am Hoichi,' the wizard introduced himself, with all the calmness and good nature of a man at a tea party. 'My family has stood watch over this grave since 1927, when you last attempted to disturb Lord Masakado's rest. I am honored that you have chosen to return during my life.' The wizard bowed to the evil sorcerer, returning Kato's mock courtesy.

'Your clan has stood watch over this grave for nearly eighty years then?' Kato said, taking a step towards Hoichi. 'Your hatred for me must be great, to have awaited my coming for so very long.'

Hoichi laughed, the sound causing Kato's face to show the first sign of any emotion since he had first begun parlaying with the wizard. It was a look of surprise.

'No, demon, I will not fall into that trap,' Hoichi said, merriment still in his voice. 'To hate one like you is to give your evil a path into my soul. Only by remaining without emotion can a demon be destroyed. To do otherwise is to drain the ocean with a sieve.'

'Filled with hate or no, you shall not stop me,' Kato returned, his voice low and menacing.

'I do not need to thwart you, demon,' Hoichi stated. 'Lord Masakado has already found his redemption. He does not seek destruction. He protects this great city with his powers. Behold the great calamities that have set upon Tokyo over the years. Yet fewer have died here than elsewhere when tragedy has set upon other places. Look at the prosperity and fortune of this great city, which rises from the ashes to grow ever stronger, ever more brilliant. It is Lord Masakado's blessing that makes this city thrive, not his curse.'

'This ground is holy,' Kato snarled. 'It is consecrated by the blood of the dead. They cry out for vengeance upon those who would build this vile abomination upon their tombs.'

'I hear no such cries of anguish, demon,' Hoichi shot back. 'The spirits I sense revel in the prosperity of their descendents and gaze in wonder upon every new marvel the minds of men and hands of men construct.'

Kato roared back at the wizard. 'Then you hear nothing old fool!' The necromancer gestured towards Hoichi and a gloved hand seemed to shoot from the sorcerer to strike the old wizard. But, just as Kato had warded away the spirits motivating the branches of the tree, so to did Kato's black sorcery crash harmlessly against an invisible shield of magic.

'I thought the secrets lost,' Kato said, amazed that Hoichi had been powerful enough to ward off his attack. 'I had thought in this abominable age there would be none who would embrace magic before the heresies of science.'

'So long as demons like you stalk the earth, Kato Yasunori, there shall be need of white magic to counter your evil.' Hoichi threw his own sheet of parchment at the necromancer. The slip of white paper transformed into a sharp-beaked bird and flew at the necromancer. Kato responded by hurling his own shape-shifters at the oncoming spirit. The three black fanged demons tore the white bird to shreds, the savaged parchment slowly fluttering back to the ground. Kato recalled his own shape-shifters. They dropped to the earth, assuming shapes like grotesque black monkeys and scuttling across the dirt to return to their master.

'Your magic is feeble, wizard,' Kato mocked. 'Perhaps I cannot harm you, but you certainly cannot harm me.'

'You shall not succeed here, demon!' Hoichi cried, alarm breaking through his calm façade. 'Lord Masakado shall not bend to your will. He will not let you destroy this city.'

'Then I shall find a different instrument to exact my vengeance!' Kato spat. The sorcerer rose into the air, his booted heels hovering above the earth. The wind howled, whipping his cape around him. As Hoichi watched, the necromancer's body shattered into a swirling mass of darkness and was carried away on the wind.

'Return to the grave you have denied for so long!' the white wizard cried after the departed sorcerer. 'Let this city be!'

The only answer the wizard received was a sound that was carried back to him on the wind, the sound of a demon's laughter.


	2. I: A Tale of Darkness

Koumajutsu ****

Koumajutsu

The Coming of Bagan

By C. L. Werner

Chapter I:

A Tale of Darkness

The Imperial Palace. Domain of Japan's royal family, the long line of Emperors. A regal place of fabulous art treasures, astounding architecture and exotic finery. But amidst all the splendor, amongst the pomp and circumstance, there could be found a small, dark, barren chamber. No electric light had ever been wired into this small room and the dancing light of the golden braziers that lurked in each corner of the room did little to dispel the gloom. A large ornate throne stood against the far wall. It was the only furnishing aside from the blazing braziers. The Emperor of Japan sat in that throne, staring down at the small man sat before him on his knees, head bowed in deference to the Emperor's rank and position.

This room had last been used by the previous Emperor, early in his reign. Not since 1927 had the chamber been opened. On that occasion, it had been as a postscript to the defeat of a terrible enemy and the salvation of a great city. Now that enemy had returned and the great city was once again in peril.

'My father spoke of this place only once,' the Emperor said, his voice even and measured, his tone hushed and reverent. 'Upon his deathbed, he spoke of this place and the many guardians who watch over Japan. He told me the true role of tradition and superstition, told me some small measure of the unbelievable truths which fables conceal.' The Emperor edged forward in his seat. 'But I must ask myself if what he said was true. Can it really be him, after all these years?'

Hoichi stared upwards; looking at the Emperor's feet, not daring to look upon the face of the man he called master and worshipped as a living god. Most of Japan still treated the Emperor with the respect and honor of a leader, but only a few truly thought of the Imperial household as gods. Hoichi and his clan were such tradition bound men.

'There is a saying in the Western world that the greatest trick the Devil ever accomplished was to convince mankind that he did not exist.' Hoichi sighed, tiredly. 'It is true, noble sovereign. With my own eyes, I saw him. With my own lips I challenged him. With my own magic, I drove him away. It was Kato Yasunori.'

'But how?' the Emperor asked. 'After all of these years, how can he still be alive?'

'His soul is darkness. Where men have hearts, he has only shadow. It is wrong to think of Kato Yasunori as a mortal being. He is more demon than human. What humanity there was in Kato Yasunori has long since passed into the night.' Hoichi paused, remembering what his own father had told him of their terrible enemy. 

'Kato Yasunori was born in the province of Kishuyu. In those days it was an abandoned accursed place. Kishuyu had once been the most prosperous land in all of Japan, blessed by the dead ancestors lying within the hallowed ground.' Bitterness entered Hoichi's normally calm, moderated voice. 'The people forgot their ancestors, over time, and began to take credit for their own prosperity. The ancient rituals for tending and honoring the dead were forgotten, the dead left without prayers of remembrance and gratitude. So the land became poisoned, cursed by the dead. Kishuyu became a haunted place, where men dared not live. It is in this blighted place that Masakado Taira was born long ago. So too, was it the spawning ground of Kato Yasunori.'

'Kato Yasunori served in the Imperial army, rising to the rank of lieutenant before he was supposedly killed in the Chinese city of Dairen. That was in 1892.' Hoichi licked his lips. 'But Kato did not die. He is the living embodiment of the vengeance of Kishuyu's forgotten dead. It is not within the power of mortals to destroy such a creature.'

'He seeks to destroy Tokyo,' the Emperor stated. 'Why? Why seek the destruction of a city for the better part of a century?'

'Kato believes the ground Tokyo is built upon to be holy, hallowed by the centuries of dead buried beneath the city. He believes it to be an affront that men have built a living city upon the graves of so many noble dead. He claims vengeance for them and would destroy the city to restore it to holy ground.' Hoichi stared upwards, daring to again gaze upon the feet of the Emperor.

'If this is so, why has Kato waited for so very long to again try to destroy Tokyo?'

'I do not believe he has,' Hoichi answered. 'Tokyo has been plagued by more disasters than any city. Time and again horrible monsters have trampled portions of Tokyo into the dust. Why should Tokyo be so accursed? There are no nuclear reactors here, yet Godzilla has time and again been drawn to the city. The coincidence that resulted in the freeing of the creatures that became the monster Destroyah; can you not see a sinister thread in such an occurrence? King Kong's pursuit of Godzilla into the city, the madness of Colonel Nomura that lead him to turn Gigan into a weapon of destruction, or even the renegade Dr. Mafune sending not one but all four of his creations to trample the city, how many of these events did not have their origin in the intricate plots and dark sorcery of Kato Yasunori?'

'Yet it is only now that he shows himself,' the Emperor pointed out.

'Yes, which leads me all the more to believe that he had a hand in the last attack upon Tokyo,' Hoichi replied. 'Now he shows himself. He again tries to stir Lord Masakado's spirit to do his bidding.'

'But the guardian spirit of Tokyo will not obey him,' the Emperor stated.

'True, but the demon swore to find another instrument of his vengeance.'

'If he had such a weapon, he would have used it long ago,' the Emperor said.

'No, Kato Yasunori is not one to threaten. He has such a resource. What it is, I do not know, but it will be terrible beyond anything we have yet seen. It will be a sacrilege that gives even Kato pause to commit.' Hoichi looked into the flickering light on the walls. 'The demon has found a horror such as the world has never known.'

'You think he is desperate enough to use such a thing?'

'His soul has been damned ten times over,' Hoichi solemnly responded. 'What does it matter to such a being if all the world burns to achieve his goal?'

The group of people gathered around the meeting table sat down as the aged American general entered the room. General Goodhue shook hands with Commander Aso and Colonel Breen, British representative of Europe's Monster Defiance Headquarters. The trio of officers took their own seats at a smaller table facing the group assembled at the larger table. It was Commander Aso who addressed the group first. From the sidelines, Dr. Otani, director of the Ogasawara Project looked on.

'Following the recent events involving Dr. Mafune and his so-called 'super-saurs', it has been decided by the governments of the United Nations to create a multi-national task force to investigate all new kaiju appearances, determine their cause and determine the best way of neutralizing the creatures.' Commander Aso locked eyes with one of the men seated at the table, the young Colonel Sho Kuroki. The Colonel smiled back at the UNGCC commander, causing Aso to flush slightly.

'The United States has taken it upon itself to smash international terrorism,' General Goodhue stated, rising from his seat and taking the floor from Commander Aso. 'We are not limiting our efforts to Islamic extremism, either. In the past, kaiju have been employed as pawns by terrorists. Terrorists threatened Japan by releasing the old Godzilla from the volcanic crater of Mt. Mihara. A group calling itself the 'Industrial Mafia' tried to gain control of Godzilla for terrorist purposes. More recently, a Japanese communist group gained control of the cyborg Gigan and used it to ravage Tokyo. Then, of course, there were the recent events involving Dr. Mafune and his vendetta against the MARS corporation. The fact that giant monsters have been used for such purposes in the past makes the United States very concerned that they may be so used in the future.'

General Goodhue seated himself and the floor was taken over by Colonel Breen. Wearing a starched uniform and wielding a riding crop, the moustached British officer was as straight as a ramrod and every inch the professional soldier of Her Majesty.

'The European nations were hardest hit by the recent attacks by Mafune's creations. Our governments are treating the possibility of monster attacks directed by unscrupulous persons with the utmost seriousness. For this reason, the MDH formulated the concept of this task force. The Kaiju Neutralization and Interception Force Elite will be answerable only to the United Nations Security Council, not to any individual government or agency. It will be the function of this agency to investigate possible monster sightings, determine their reality and discover what has caused the new monster to appear. It will also be KNIFE's role to study such beasts in the field, as it were, and determine what measures should be taken to contain or destroy such monsters.'

'KNIFE will be based here at Ogasawara, for the time being. The entire research of Dr. Otani's people will be readily available and the islands provide a good strike point for any location in the Pacific region.' Commander Aso turned and looked at his fellow officers from GARD and the MDH. 'I might add that measures are underway to make the KNIFE force completely mobile, allowing them to reach any point on the globe in a matter of hours.'

'Then I suppose it is a matter of introducing you people to one another,' General Goodhue stated.

'Colonel Sho Kuroki of the JSDF will be in command of KNIFE.' Commander Aso introduced his former rival. 'Colonel Kuroki has successfully commanded all of the Super X-3 missions and was instrumental in felling Godzilla by use of the ANB and Thunder Control System.'

The young woman seated next to Kuroki rose and smiled nervously at the other people in the room. 'Miss Miki Saegusa is well known to all here, I am sure,' Commander Aso stated. 'She enjoys an amazing psychic ability, a talent which has even allowed her to develop a startling rapport with Godzilla. She has been gracious enough to put her considerable talents at the disposal of KNIFE.'

The man seated next to Miki was a young, handsome Japanese soldier. 'Lieutenant Koji Shinjo is a veteran of the UNGCC. In addition to his work with the T-project, he was part of the strike force that thwarted the Industrial Mafia's plans to control Godzilla and was part of MOGUERA's crew.' Shinjo gave Miki's hand a slight, reassuring squeeze as Commander Aso introduced him.

So it progressed, as Commander Aso introduced the other members of the Japanese element of the team. The young kaiju biologist Kenichi Yamane. The UNGCC veteran Lieutenant Kiyoshi Sato. Lastly, the elderly Professor Noriko Yoshiwara, a survivor of the first Godzilla's 1954 attack and one of the foremost specialists on Godzilla in the world.

General Goodhue took the floor and introduced the American team members. First was the eye-patch wearing CIA agent Peter Daxton. Paleobiologist Gerald Balinger, an awkward, geeky man, obviously ill at ease in his new situation. The hulking mass of Junji Kenoshita, an Eskimo and decorated Green Beret of the United States Army. Colonel John Pike, another of the US military's best and most tactical minds, this time drawn from the Delta Force strike team. Lastly, General Goodhue introduced Captain Vince Elliot, one of the US Navy's elite SEALs.

The approach of the European MDH was a less military one. From the United Kingdome came Dr. Jill Llewellyn, one of that country's top scientists specializing in radioactivity and its effects on living matter, a middle-aged, but still attractive woman. Aaron Vaught was the eccentric monster legend and lore writer who had forsaken a prosperous career writing horror novels to put his considerable knowledge of mythology at the disposal of his country. From France was one of their top Foreign Legion commandos, Philippe Roache. Not to be outdone, the Germans provided their own military representative, Kaptain Erich Ramas, lately of the German Abwehr. It was obvious that the giant German and the thin Frenchman had a deep resentment for one another.

Dr. Otani watched as the introductions were made. He could not help but wonder what real impact these people could have if another giant monster appeared. He had seen firsthand what some of these people could do, the remarkable feats they could achieve. But he also knew what tremendous beasts kaiju were. Indeed he had only to journey to the facility's control room to see firsthand some of these creatures. He had to wonder, what could any man really do to stop a thing like Godzilla or Rodan? He hoped that he would never again need to find out.

Commander Aso walked the length of the massive gantry. He had only just returned from Ogasawara and the founding of KNIFE. He needed to reassure himself that he had not just been present at the founding of the UNGCC's successor. Walking the length of the enormous hangar, Commander Aso was reassured. He stared with pride at the humongous shape of metal that rested on the gantry. Dr. Asimov had certainly redeemed himself in the eyes of the UNGCC commander. The weapon was marvelous. Aso had seen its combat specks, computer simulations of the machine in action. It was truly the most powerful conventional weapon in the world.

Commander Aso smiled. He almost wished that a new monster would present itself. To unleash this machine upon it, to launch a third great steel leviathan from this facility. But this time not to defeat, but to certain victory. When the time came, Commander Aso knew that the failures of Mechagodzilla and MOGUERA would be forgotten, blasted from Japan's memory by this glistening armored giant.

Yes, Commander Aso wished another monster would show its ugly head.

The temple was dark, lit only by a single bed of smoldering coals. All the same, the monk rose from his crouch before the altar and challenged the shadows.

'You may not enter this holy place,' the monk called out. 'I shall not allow you to profane this place with your evil. Leave now, while you still can.' The monk's words were met by a peal of sinister laughter.

'I leave when I have what I have come for,' a deep, malevolent voice stated, its tone mocking. 'It is you who should know fear, Shaolin.'

The monk cast aside his heavy outer robe, slinking into a combat stance. 'You shall not enter the shrine, demon,' the Chinese monk declared. The sound of naked feet rushing through the corridors and halls of the temple echoed around in the darkness. The monk's lip slid into a slight smile. 'And now it is too late for you to leave.'

The shape in the darkness laughed again. The monk could detect the motion of the unseen man looking from side to side at the armed Shaolin monks who now surrounded him. Again, the demon laughed. More monks arrived, this time carrying lanterns. The light revealed the shadowy figure. It was a tall Japanese soldier. His eyes burned with an unnatural light.

'Who are you?' the suddenly alarmed monk shuddered.

'I am Kato Yasunori,' the demon replied. 'And I have been in Dairen before.' At a gesture from the sorcerer, the ornamental carvings that covered the walls of the temple began to writhe and pull themselves from the adorned walls. A menagerie of phoenixes, lions and dragons fell upon the startled monks, rending and slashing at them with teakwood fangs and wooden claws. The monks screamed in horror and pain as the sorcerously animated carvings attacked them. Kato dismissed the besieged men from his mind and stalked across the temple floor.

A determined Shaolin monk broke from the melee, his leg almost completely shredded by the claws of a wooden lion. The man shouted as he struck the necromancer in the head with his quarterstaff. Kato turned, favoring the doomed monk with a fanged snarl. The necromancer muttered a loathsome word and pointed with his finger. The monk exploded into a bright crimson mist. The demon did not wait for that mist to settle before turning and resuming his trek across the temple.

Kato paused before the altar and began to recite ancient words, an invocation to the darkest devils and most ancient demons. The litany continued, drowned out from all mortal ears by the screams of the Chinese monks. At last, the heavy stone altar cracked, though no visible hand struck it, and the separate halves flew to either side of the temple, as though swatted away by an unseen ogre. A dark recess was uncovered and Kato smiled as something rose from that opening. 

It was an object the size of a man's head, an object seemingly carved from a single massive sapphire. It was shaped like a dragon and as Kato reached out for it, the object began to pulse and throb. Only the necromancer could have likened the feeling of the object in his hand to what it in the truest sense was. The object in his hand was not merely throbbing. It was beating. Beating like a disembodied yet still living heart.

Hoichi was deep in his prayers when the strange looking white bird fluttered into his chambers. It was just before dawn, the darkest part of the night. There was blood on the bird and as Hoichi walked towards it, the creature wilted back into a parchment of paper. Hoichi looked at the symbol inscribed on the paper, recognizing it as that of the Shaolin temple in Dairen. The shape-shifter had come from there. Hoichi knelt and retrieved the other piece of paper, the one the bird had been carrying in its beak. 

It was a scrap of ancient parchment and as Hoichi read, he was struck with horror. Kato had shown his hand, but the nature of the demon's scheme was beyond even Hoichi's darkest imaginings.

The paper was a page torn from a collection of Chinese poetry that dated back a thousand years. Hoichi read again the infamous lines:

__

Before there is life, there is death

For the grass to grow, the tree must fall

For the land to rise, the mountain must crumble

For the river to flow, the snow must die

For there to be courage, there must be fear

Night must ever follow upon the day

I am the bringer of death

I am the eater of forests

I am the destroyer of mountains

I am the devourer of the waters

I am the terror that consumes honor

I am the darkness that devours the light

I am the destiny that awaits the wise

I am the reward that awaits the good

I am the justice that awaits the evil

The name given to fate

The name given to doom

Remember the name of Bagan

And curse the thousand tomorrows of my sleep


	3. II: The Darkness Awakes

Koumajutsu ****

Koumajutsu

The Coming of Bagan

By C. L. Werner

Chapter II:

The Darkness Awakes

'But it is desperately important to my research that I be granted permission to enter the Litze Valley,' the man protested again. He was of average stature, wearing the sort of fashionable, yet sturdy, suit favored by executives and aristocrats alike when called upon to journey into harsh environs. One look at the man put the falsehood to such a classification. The man was slight of build, without the well-fed stature of a wealthy noble. His forehead was high, the hairline retreating from his powerful brow, hinting at an intelligence beyond the average minion of the corporate world. Again, the Englishman voiced his concerns.

'The _Mariphasa Lumino Lupina_ is said to grow only on the slopes of that particular valley. There are no known examples of this rare blossom in any botanical garden in the world.' Dr. Wilfred Glendon sighed. 'I cannot understand your reasoning, your highness.'

'Please, Dr. Glendon,' the beautiful woman seated on the throne at the center of the room addressed the Briton. 'The Litze Valley is a sacred place to my people. Only the most holy men are allowed to enter it on their pilgrimages. For any but the most enlightened Buddhist monk, that region is taboo. I could not grant you permission to enter that valley, even if it were within my power to do so.' Princess Selina Salno smiled sadly. 'I am very sorry, but I must again deny your petition.'

Dr. Glendon turned away from the Princess, a cold fury burning in his chest. To come half-way around the world only to be denied at the last moment by the ridiculous superstitions of a backwards nation! It was impossible. Would science always be forced to advance at a snail's pace due to the incessant babblings of priests and monks? The near legendary 'moon flower' did exist, Glendon was certain of it. Proving that fact would establish himself as Europe's greatest botanist, and bring him the prestige he so rightfully deserved. 

'If that is your final word on the matter,' the scientist said his tone not quite as deferential as it had been before. He began to walk from the Princess' audience chamber.

'Please, Dr. Glendon, do not think to circumvent my decree,' Princess Salno said, her tone almost pleading. 'I would not wish to have any unpleasantness occur between us.' Dr. Glendon turned around and snarled at the leader of the kingdom of Selgia.

'Or what? You will have me expelled from your country?' The tone in the Englishman's voice caused the two massive guards to finger their halberds and take a few steps forward. Glendon ignored them. 'That would look very good indeed to the thousands of tourists you hope to lure to this country!' Glendon did not wait for the royal sovereign of the tiny Himalayan nation to respond, but stomped from the lavish chamber.

A few hours later found Dr. Wilfred Glendon seated at a table inside a dingy Selgian tavern. The place stank of sweat, animals and unwashed humanity. Not for the first time, the scientist kicked at a roaming goat that strayed too near his table. He cursed sullenly at the pacifist nature of the Hindus who formed a portion of Selgia's populace. At least they could have the decency to keep their livestock out of the buildings.

'So she will not change her position?' came the moderated voice of the man seated to Glendon's right. Like Glendon, he wore a simple but sturdy suit, although he had a more practical parka over the proper clothing. The man's face was sunken, somewhat gaunt, and his hair was close-cropped. Soft blue eyes gleamed from above the other Englishman's pronounced cheekbones.

'No, Dr. Rollason, Princess Salno is not going to grant us permission to make the climb. She is worried about our British feet defiling their taboo valley,' Dr. Glendon sneered sullenly, sipping the tepid beer in the clay bowl before him.

'Aw, what do we need her permission for anyway?' groused Glendon's other companion. Large, massive, wearing military fatigues and heavy hiking boots, the other man was a marked contrast to the other Westerners. His accent was American, his heavy face full and weather-beaten. Tom Friend had never departed the Far East following the war in Vietnam, becoming many things in many lands. Just now, he was a professional explorer.

'Have you ever been to the Litze Valley?' inquired Dr. Glendon. 'It seems to me that we will need a guide if we are to reach the objective.'

'Yes, and those monks put the fear of God into your sherpas when the discovered where we were going,' Dr. John Rollason pointed out.

'I'll get them back,' declared Tom Friend. 'No superstitious nonsense will keep them away when I find them and tell them I've increased their pay. We'll have a guide to the Litze Valley.'

'Perhaps I can help,' a slight, nervous voice said. The three white men turned to see the man who had intruded upon their conversation. They saw a short Oriental, dressed in a heavy parka. A thin moustache grew upon the man's lip. The man bowed slightly, favoring the group with a broad, toothy smile. Dr. Glendon examined the man closely. Japanese, he decided. A shorter figure, a boy to judge by the slender build stood beside the Japanese man. The companion was also Oriental, though not Japanese. Nor a sherpa, Glendon decided. Perhaps Thai or Chinese.

'You know where we can find a guide to the Litze Valley?' Dr. Glendon inquired.

'Indeed, I believe that I do,' the Japanese answered, sitting down at the table. 'My name is Dr. Yogami, and I am also seeking to travel to the Litze Valley.'

'You also seek the _Marisphasa_?' Dr. Glendon said suspiciously, envisioning Dr. Yogami stealing his discovery out from under him.

'No, indeed,' the Japanese smiled, bowing again. 'I believe that the Litze Valley holds a very different legend within it. You have perhaps heard of the legendary city of Shangri-la?'

'The city of paradise?' scoffed Tom Friend. 'But that's just a myth!'

'Perhaps, but so too is this flower that you seek,' countered Yogami, his voice calm and even.

'If you do know of a guide, why have you not already mounted an expedition to the valley?' asked Dr. Glendon, still suspicious.

'I can indeed locate a guide, but I cannot find enough porters to carry the necessary gear to ensure the success of such a climb.' Dr. Yogami spread his hands out. 'It seems few are willing to risk the taboo. Then I saw you men and heard you discussing the valley. Certainly between the five of us we can distribute enough provisions for the journey?'

Dr. Glendon thought about this for a moment and then nodded. 'Very well, Yogami, I accept your proposal. Lead us to this guide of yours.'

'Preposterous!' shouted Defense Minister Segawa, shaking his head in disbelief. 'I cannot believe we are listening to this.'

'May I remind you that the Emperor himself called this meeting,' the Prime Minister of Japan softly scolded his comrade's outburst. 'It is our duty to hear Master Hoichi out.'

'I for one, would like to hear the rest of this fascinating fable,' sneered CCI Chief Katagiri. The newly formed Crisis Control Intelligence was an arm of the Japanese government designed to co-ordinate defense, evacuation, relief and re-building efforts in the event of a disaster, natural or otherwise. The young politician oozed confidence and pride at his appointment to the powerful position as the head of CCI.

Unperturbed by the disbelieving faces surrounding him, the small man standing within the semi-circle table picked up his account. Already, Hoichi had related the history of Tokyo's shadowy war against the necromancer Kato. It was obvious that no one in the group had believed a word of it. Now, Hoichi had an even more impossible thing for the leaders of Japan to accept.

'I have been informed by the Shaolin temple in Dairen what this demon intends. Kato stole from the temple an ancient artifact known as the heart of the dragon. With it, he intends to resurrect the ancient beast of destruction and death known to the ancients as Bagan.'

'Another giant monster?' Katagiri sighed. 'Don't we have enough real kaiju to worry about without inventing more?' A sharp look from the Prime Minister silenced the CCI chief.

'Bagan was the force that destroyed the civilization of the ancients, and nearly all life on the Earth. In those days, dragons still strode the Earth. They sought enlightenment, transcendence beyond the mortal coil. Most of them succeeded; slipping into a reality only the purest of spirits can enter. But the beast Bagan was unlike others of his kind. He sought even greater power, merging his soul with that of a powerful demon, consuming that hideous being's essence to make him the most powerful creature to ever stalk the world. But the power he so gained did not come without a price. The lust for death and destruction of the demon consumed Bagan. Instead of ascending like most of his kin, Bagan set about destroying the civilization of the ancients, reeking a terrible havoc upon the land. The dragon-demon destroyed everything, leaving no structure unleveled, letting not a single soul slip from his evil grasp. Bagan had become a harvester of death, feeding upon the souls of those he vanquished.'

'How was this terrible demon defeated?' Colonel Sho Kuroki asked, his voice straining to convey some measure of belief. Kuroki did not believe a word of Hoichi's story, but it was his duty to listen to the old man.

'There were powers opposed to Bagan,' Hoichi answered, nodding at the commander of KNIFE. 'Seven great guardians of life, of the ancients and even of the Earth herself joined forces to defeat the terrible monster. The battle was fierce and shook the world to its core, consuming the ancient lands beneath the waves, wiping almost all trace of the ancients from the world. The battle was costly, four of the seven perished in the struggle, their fallen essences feeding the awful demon-soul within Bagan. But before the horrible beast could fully absorb that power, he was beaten. Bagan's power, his profane, demonic essence was placed within five great gemstones and hidden in sacred places within the Earth by the few surviving ancients. The monster's body was likewise hidden, sealed within a glacier of ice.'

'Then this Bagan is dead, even if your tale is true,' observed General Nakata, newly appointed commander of the JSDF.

'Yes, but as we all know, ''_That is not dead which can eternal lie_", pointed out Ryu Yamamoto, the head of a division known as the Odaka Foundation. It was designed to investigate religious cults and certain strange happenings. Of all those present, Yamamoto had been the most attentive and the one man in the room most sympathetic to what Hoichi was saying.

'Indeed,' Hoichi affirmed. 'Bagan is death itself. Death cannot ever die. So too, it is with its embodiment. Even for the seven ancient guardians, it was beyond their power to destroy Bagan, only neutralize and imprison him.'

'And you think this Kato Yasunori would release such a beast simply to destroy Tokyo?' asked Commander Aso of the UNGCC. Hoichi bowed to the old military officer.

'To destroy Tokyo, Kato would risk anything. Even the death of mankind.'

'This Bagan would actually destroy humanity?' the question came again from Colonel Kuroki.

'In the old Chinese texts, Bagan is described as a protector of the forest,' Hoichi replied. 'That is because he seemed to take vengeance upon those who destroyed forests and the tiny animals within them. But this is only a poor observation. Bagan feeds upon souls, and animals are without the nourishment he seeks. He needs the spirit of intelligent beings; creatures capable of good or evil to sustain his own need for ever greater power. Thus, he avoids forests and deserts, seeking out cities and the thousands of souls dwelling therein. Make no mistake, if Bagan is released, he will scour the earth of human life.'

There was silence for a long moment as the assembled leaders considered the wizard's words. It was Katagiri who finally broke that silence, rising from his seat.

'Thank you, master Hoichi,' Katagiri said, not quite managing to hide his sarcasm. 'You have given the CCI much to consider.

'You still do not see,' Hoichi sighed. The wizard reached inside his robe and withdrew a large white card. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the object flying toward Katagiri. There were gasps of astonishment as the card twisted and contorted in midair into a bird-like creature. The bird flew to the table, landing before the amazed Katagiri. Again, the shape-shifter twisted and contorted, becoming an albinistic simulacrum of the CCI chief. The tiny spirit bowed to Katagiri, then unraveled back into the shape of a simple sheet of paper.

'That is just a small display of what magic can do,' Hoichi said. 'I assure you, the black sorcery of Kato can accomplish feats that make my _shiki_ seem mundane.'

For three days, the small group had been steadily climbing the slopes of the awe-inspiring mountains. The Himalayas were called the 'roof of the world' and so the imposing juggernauts were. The mountaineers were climbing through a heavy white fog just now. It still shocked Dr. Glendon to know that the fog was actually a low hanging cloud, a cloud that had fallen upon the mountainside. The sights and experiences of the climb had amazed the British scientist. It was an experience worth having on its own, beyond even the lure of the legendary moon flower. Dr. Glendon could now understand how people could believe in something greater than man. Before the natural wonder of these mountains, the works of man were nothing.

Still, the climb had not been all wonder and awe. There had been mystery as well. Sinister shapes had been seen at night as they made camp, seemingly observing them from afar. There had been weird animal cries echoing in the night from far off peaks, reminding Dr. Glendon of another of the Himalayas' legends, the mythical abominable snowman, the yeti. Then there was Dr. Yogami and his Chinese servant. They had been pleasant enough when the group had been leaving the capital city of Selgia, but on the climb the two Orientals had become sullen and withdrawn, ignoring Dr. Rollason's best efforts to be sociable.

Finally, there was the guide Dr. Yogami had directed them to. He made even Yogami seem a social butterfly. The man never joined them at the fire, never spoke to anyone for more than to deliver a few terse directions in a thick and strangely accented voice. The man stank like a rotting goat and Dr. Glendon was forced to wonder if that might not be because of the man's lack of sanitation. He had not once seen him emerge even for an instant from the confines of the heavy furs he wore. A heavy yak-hide hood covered the man's head and face and even after three days of reasonably close contact with the man, Glendon could not swear what he looked like. A very enigmatic person, this Varga.

Glendon could see that Varga had come to a halt on the edge of the ridge up ahead. The guide made no motion with his arm for the group to advance, but everyone did so anyway. A thrill of expectancy gripped Dr. Glendon. Perhaps this was it; perhaps this was at last the entrance to the forbidden valley! Glendon hurried to join the strange guide.

'There,' Varga said, pointing a mittened hand downwards. 'There be what seek.' Glendon followed the pointing finger. Below, he could see a lush valley, filled with trees and a large lake. A great glacier enclosed one edge of the valley, while the yawning maw of a huge cave occupied the other. More amazing than any of these sights, however, was the startling image rising in the center of the valley. Towers, ziggurats, obelisks and buildings of shapes and designs that were beyond anything that Dr. Glendon had ever seen. They seemed to be ancient, yet lacked the decrepitude of unoccupied structures. For some strange reason, Glendon wondered if human hands had built the world he was now gazing upon.

'Shangri-la,' breathed Tom Friend under his breath, dumbstruck by the sight.

'It seems your myth is reality,' said Dr. Rollanson, turning to regard Dr. Yogami. 

'Yes, Shangri-la,' declared Varga in his brutish, thick voice. 'You new home.'

Before any of the men could react to the guide's strange words, the rocks and snowbanks around them suddenly became alive with activity. Shapes, huge hulking figures nearly twice the size of men emerged from their places of concealment. The creatures were covered in dark gray hair, their arms powerful and longer than any human limb. Their faces were bestial, apelike, yet the eyes gleaming from either side of their broad muzzles were intelligent. The creatures surrounded the expedition, advancing slowly.

'Another legend,' Varga snorted in his broken Chinese. 'Yeti.' As he said this last part, the group's guide reached up and pulled back his hood revealing not the features of a sherpa but the hairy face of a yeti.

'My God!' shouted Dr. Rollason in horror.

'Not hurt,' Varga said, shaking his head. 'You no leave Shangri-la, but not hurt. Live here. Peace.' The other yeti began to stalk closer. 'Not leave. Shangri-la home now.'

The sound of hideous laughter brought the ape-like creatures to a halt. The shocked men turned to the source of the incongruous sound, finding it even more startling than the looming yeti and the distant Shangri-la. The laughter came from Dr. Yogami. As the men watched, the doctor's face became shrunken and corpse-like even as his stature grew. The man's parka and climbing equipment transformed into the green uniform of an Imperial Japanese army officer. Yogami's Chinese servant threw away 'his' cloak, revealing a lithe woman dressed in black, her body defying the snow and ice within the scant clothing that now encased it.

'You thought to imprison us here, to lead us into a trap,' Kato laughed. 'But instead you have lead me to my destiny.' The evil necromancer threw his hands open, dozens of black parchment cards flitting into the air and transforming into winged and beaked shapes. The tiny demons struck the surrounding yeti, slicing into their fur, staining the snow with their blood. The bestial cries of the injured snowmen was deafening from so near. Some of the hominids struggled forward, determined to come to grips with their enemy. Kato smiled, displaying his fangs. The sorcerer gestured with his hands, a wave of invisible force knocking the snowmen back. He repeated the gesture as Varga closed upon him from the right, knocking the guide down.

'No!' cried Dr. Rollason, crouching beside the injured Varga. 'They meant us no harm!' Kato sneered at the outraged botanist. Another blast of unholy power sent both Rollason and Varga toppling over the side of the ridge.

'We only need one,' Kato said to the Chinese witch at his side. 

Fury on his face, Tom Friend lashed out at the triumphant necromancer. His fist contacted with the sorcerer's face. For his effort, the man was rewarded with a quick death. Crackling tendrils of energy snaked from the fingers of the Chinese woman, enveloping Friend's body and reducing him to a charred skeleton in a few moments. Dr. Glendon watched all of this transpire, rooted to the spot as though he had been turned to stone. Kato walked over to the stunned scientist. The necromancer's claw-like hand grasped Glendon's shoulder, pulling the man after Kato as the sorcerer strode down the narrow path that descended from the ridge to the valley floor. Behind the demon, the yeti continued to struggle against the swarm of small black spirits, their savage strength no match for the numberless horde. Kato ignored their cries of pain and frustration.

Kato released Dr. Glendon and the horrified man sank to his knees, almost reduced to a babbling wreck by the steady train of nightmare he had been forced to endure. First there had been the shock of finding Shangri-la, then the menacing appearance of the yeti, and finally, the demonic treachery of the man who had masqueraded as Dr. Yogami. On the path down into the valley, Glendon had seen again and again the awful power of the necromancer and his Chinese witch. Several times, yeti had attacked, trying to halt the demon's advance. Time and again, Kato had called upon his unholy sorcery to ward them off, lifting mammoth boulders into the air to crush them, or simply exploding their skulls with invisible blasts of force.

Now, they had reached the valley floor, some short distance from the enormous glacier. Glendon could see a shape through the ice, something titanic and monstrous. He tried to scramble away from the ice, but the Chinese witch placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to remain still. The evil woman licked her lips, clearly savoring the scientist's terror. 

Kato reached for a leather bag slung from his belt and dumped its contents into his hand. An object the size of a human skull came into view. It was a huge sapphire, the blue gemstone cut into the perfect shape of a grinning dragon. The eerie artifact pulsed and throbbed with unnatural life. Kato smiled as he watched the object's beats increase, as if it sensed the thing within the glacier. The necromancer set the sapphire down, right at Glendon's feet. Then Kato made a gesture of his gloved hand slicing across his throat. At the same instant, invisible, inhuman hands obeyed, cutting Glendon's throat. The unholy object at his feet was covered in the man's blood, absorbing the liquid through its surface.

'The blood of innocence,' Kato said, his voice low and menacing. He looked at the Chinese witch. His companion's eyes grew wide with alarm, but she had no time to react before the necromancer had repeated the slicing gesture. Her blood sprayed across the pulsing sapphire.

'The blood of sin,' Kato snarled. The gemstone greedily drank the liquid, its beating growing ever more frenzied and rapid. Kato began to chant in an ancient and lost language, his words picking up speed to match the rapid beats of the sapphire.

A loud, horrendous roar shook the valley, causing snow to crash down the slopes in a series of avalanches. The sound was repeated as an enormous being emerged from the dark interior of the cavern. It was huge, easily sixty meters tall. Light gray fur covered much of its body; its huge barrel like chest was as wide as a four-lane highway. Jaws that could devour a city bus in one bite jutted from an ape-like face. Keen, intelligent eyes burned with outrage from beside the monster's widely flared nose. It was a huge creature, a monster of monsters, one of the yeti grown to impossible size. A thousand years of meditation and transcendence had allowed one of the yetis to evolve into this creature, the Great Watchika. It was a sacred title, and a holy duty that caused the yeti to forsake kinship with his own kind, for it was the Great Watchika's task to guard the icy prison of Bagan and see that the demon-dragon's sleep was never disturbed.

The Great Watchika roared again, crossing the valley in huge, lumbering steps. But the source of his rage paid the oncoming guardian no notice, keeping his mind instead on completing his profane ritual. The Watchika was nearly upon the blaspheming sorcerer when the ritual was complete.

A sound like the shattering of the sky drowned out the continuing rage of the Watchika. The giant yeti turned his eyes from the green-garbed necromancer and focused them instead upon the mammoth crack that had appeared in the surface of the glacier, vile smoke pouring from the fissure, carrying with it a stench of death and decay.

'Accept the first element, regain the waters and know life once more,' Kato gasped, watching as the sapphire's surface rapidly disintegrated into a pool of water. 

A deep rumbling shriek echoed across the valley as the icy surface of the glacier exploded outwards. Enormous chunks of ice were thrown across the valley, some of them crashing into the buildings and streets of Shangri-la, plunging the legendary city's generations of yeti and human inhabitants into even greater terror. A dark, frosty mist engulfed the ruins of the glacier. As the mist cleared, even Kato stared in wonder upon the being that stood revealed.

It was even larger than the Great Watchika, a massive creature that towered eighty meters above the land. Its body was thick and stocky, great armored plates encasing the reptilian flesh beneath. The monster's arms were long and bulging with muscle, each hand terminating in savage claws. The monster's long tail was almost as massive as his body, every inch of its upper surface covered in the same gray-hued armored plates, protecting the darker flesh beneath. The tip of the tail sported a tuft of hair, the only trace of such on the brute's massive form. Two columns of bony growth grew out of the monster's shoulders. Between those shoulders, a thick neck jutted forward. Perched atop the pillar of armored flesh was an evil visage, a reptilian head with monstrous, crocodile-like jaws. Two small horns curled away from the monster's head, like the horns of a ram, protecting the dragon's neck. A third, even more massive horn protruded from the beast's nose, like a huge bayonet. Yellow, serpent-like eyes glared from the pits of the monster's face as, for the first time in millennia, Bagan glared at the world.

The newly risen demon dragon uttered his gruesome grunt-like bellow, displaying his set of sword-like fangs. The Watchika did not await any further action upon the demon's part, but with a roar of fury, hurled himself at the dragon. The Watchika's tremendous weight crashed into Bagan with all the effect of a fly impacting against a stone wall. Unfazed, Bagan snarled at his supposed jailer. The Watchika slammed his fist into Bagan's throat, then wrapped a huge hairy arm about the demon's neck, trying to force the dragon back into the glacier. The Watchika opened his own maw, a gout of icy, freezing wind blasting into Bagan's body. By the slowest and slightest of degrees, the guardian was managing to push the still disoriented demon back into the ruined glacier, the giant yeti's frozen breath beginning to repair the fissure. Never had the Great Watchika been called upon to fulfill his duty, but he was determined to prevent the demon's escape.

With a brutal grunt of anger, Bagan dipped his head, digging into the Watchika's shoulder with his huge nasal horn. The Watchika screamed in agony, releasing his foe as his dark blood froze upon the snow-laden ground. Before the Great Watchika could recover, Bagan's claws tore a series of trenches into the Watchika's chest. The Watchika scrambled away from his advancing foe, ripping boulders from the ground to hurl at Bagan. Like the Watchika, the boulder's impacted harmlessly against the dragon's massive body. Unperturbed, Bagan stomped forward, his huge feet pounding impact craters wherever he stepped.

The Watchika sent another blast of icy breath engulfing the demon. Armored eyelids snapped closed as frost formed all across the monster's body. Bagan roared again as his eyes snapped open once more. With a burst of speed, the dragon closed upon the retreating Watchika. Clawed hands dug into the Great Watchika's throat. Blood bubbled from the terrible wound and the Watchika's screams shredded the air. Still, the demon would not be denied. By degrees, the screaming grew fainter; the Watchika's furious hammering of Bagan's body with his giant fists became less and less. Then, with a savage tug, Bagan tore the giant yeti's head from his body. Blood fountained into the sky as the decapitated body crashed to earth. Bagan turned the head in his claws so that the fading eyes could see its own corpse, before hurling the object away with a contemptuous gesture. 

With a roar of triumph, Bagan stomped onwards, crushing the carcass of the Great Watchika beneath his enormous feet. Ahead of him was the city of Shangri-la and the souls it contained.

Kato Yasunori watched Bagan despoil the city. The dragon would allow nothing to escape, beginning its rampage by crumbling the perimeter of the city, then slowly advancing through the ring of rubble to devastate the innards of the city with all the care of a man peeling an onion. 

A smiled grew upon the demon's face. Soon, he would be witness to this sight again. Only the city would be different. The hours of Tokyo were now few indeed.


	4. III: Desolation

****

Koumajutsu

The Coming of Bagan

By C. L. Werner

Chapter III:

Desolation

The horned head rose from the rubble of the once beautiful city. Gaping, fanged jaws dropped wide and a sound like the roar of a volcano echoed from the burning valley. Bagan roared his triumph into the sooty sky. The sound rolled downwards from the rooftop of the world, its resonance setting off numerous avalanches all across the Himalayas. The sound horrified all those who heard it. For it was the sound of death.

In the steaming jungle, the old Indian man maneuvered through the lush foliage. Spry, hardy beyond his years, the old man knew he was the last of a vanishing breed. More and more of his tribe had married outsiders, thinning the already depleted Inca blood. He was the last of the long tradition of priests and it appeared that he would have no successor. Still, such was the way. Even the ancient calendars did not advance beyond the present.

The Inca priest set his thin hand against the cool stone that jutted from the jungle floor. For ages it had rested here, far longer than the smug Western scientists would believe. They were so very certain of so very much. They could not believe in an elder world, a world far more advanced in many ways than the polluted, technology obsessed modern world.

The priest smiled, his face splitting into a gap-toothed grin. It was peaceful to sit here, in the very shadow of one of the old gods. Perhaps it was ironic, for the god was the very oldest of the Inca war gods, hardly a being to inspire peaceful thoughts. But was not peace the final offspring of any war? The Indian priest considered this for a moment as he stared up at the craggy stone face of the squatting, mammoth statue.

It was enormous, rivaling any of the ruins of Machu Pichu or even the steppe pyramids of Mexico. That it was crafted from a single block of stone had caused great marvel when it had been discovered in the 1930's. But the idol did not fit neatly into Western scientific theory. It suggested, like the Crystal Skull, that the ancients were more advanced than they should have been. So, after the initial fervor and excitement, like the Crystal Skull, it was forgotten, a curiosity to fill the back pages of speculative, pseudo-science. Now, only the old Inca priest seemed to remember that it was still there, buried in the jungle.

In shape, the idol was like a huge man, though the proportions were broader and more squat than any man's, like some massively magnified dwarf. The fists were huge, massive blocks of gray stone. The head was the most awful to contemplate, however. It was a leering, demonic face; great chisel-like fangs hanging like huge stalactites in its cavernous maw. Above the mouth were two large opening suggesting bestial nostrils. Above these were two enormous round, saucer like eyes. The head was tipped by a crown of irregularly spaced stone spikes and massive ears jutted from the sides of the head, their edge pitted and jagged, as though they had been ritually scarred, even as the old priest's ears had been.

The Inca shaman considered the awful idol for a moment, and then noticed the tremor. It was slight, like a rumbling deep within the earth. Still, he was forced to lean against the idol for support. He withdrew his hand in shock when he found the stone to be hot to the touch. It had only been a brief moment of contact but it seemed to the priest that there was a suggestion of movement within the stone, as though blood was flowing beneath the surface.

The priest fled a few yards from the idol. He watched as the squatting god began to move, lifting its body into a standing position. An eerie white light glowed within the huge saucer eyes. As the priest watched, the animated stone giant began to stride through the jungle. The Inca followed, filled with wonder and awe rather than any actual fear. An hour later, after having frightened a bus-load of plantation workers from one of the big banana companies, the huge idol found itself faced with the Pacific ocean.

The old Inca priest was astonished again when the idol entered the water. He watched as the statue strode onwards, until at last even its crown of spikes disappeared beneath the sea.

'I wish you well,' the old Indian priest said to the departed idol. 'May you find victory in whatever coming battle has ended your slumber, Tuol.'

Miki Saegusa awoke, her body drenched in sweat. She looked over to the figure beside her, but her distress had not disturbed her companion. Lieutenant Shinjo slept on. Miki slipped from their bed, leaning heavily against the wall, fighting down the urge to retch. Never in all her life, even in the presence of Space Godzilla, even when facing the terrible Destroyah, even during the rampage of the true King Ghidorah, had she felt such a sense of fear. Her mind seemed to wither from the enormous evil she had sensed. She knew that whatever had caused her to awaken was far away, yet still its tremendous power had effected her.

A tiny shape appeared, sparkling upon her dresser. As the psychic watched, a bright, sparkling image manifested, glowing brilliantly before splitting in two to become the diminutive, delicate figures of the Shobijin, the twin fairy priestesses of Mothra. The normally upbeat fairies wore grim, frightened faces.

'You sensed it too?' Miki managed to ask, although she knew it was a foolish question. The Cosmos were much more powerful psychics than she was. If whatever had happened had struck her so hard, she did not want to think about how it had been felt by the Cosmos.

'It was like a terrible scream wailing within our souls,' Lora said, responding to Miki's unspoken impressions. 'The greatest evil this planet has ever known has returned.'

'Bagan,' gasped Moll. 'It was supposed to never be freed again. The ancients tried to ensure that no accident would ever allow it to live again.'

'Then how has this beast been released?' Miki wondered.

'A very evil man has restored a shard of the monster's demon soul to it,' Moll replied.

'It was never imagined that anyone could be insane enough to want Bagan returned to life,' Lora stated, nodding her head grimly. 'But such a man has come to be, a man who is almost as much a demon as the destroyer he has released.'

'We were warned of this,' Miki realized. She had read the transcript from Master Hoichi's meeting with the Japanese security council. She felt a touch of shame at having doubted the old mystic's words. 'How can this monster be stopped?' The Cosmos faced each other, their faces wrinkled with concern.

'Long ago, when dragons still roamed this world, the ancient civilizations realized what Bagan was becoming. Before he could muster his full power, they sent great and mighty guardians to destroy him. Even the life-force of the Earth tried to destroy the monster. It took seven to battle Bagan, to stop him from achieving his final power.'

'Only three of them survived,' Moll said. 'Before he could be defeated, Bagan killed the other four.'

'But their deaths were not in vain,' continued Lora. 'The fallen guardians were able to weaken Bagan. The others were at last able to defeat the evil beast.'

'Afterwards,' the Cosmos said in unison, 'mighty sorcerers gathered the essence of the terrible demon and bound it within four great gems. The awful power that would have completed the demon's transformation was also locked away within an enchanted stone.'

'Bagan's body was sealed away within a glacier. What remained of the ancient Meh-teh built one last great city near Bagan's tomb, to guard against the event that the monster could somehow return,' Lora said.

'But there was only one way Bagan could return,' Moll added. 'Someone would have to restore the dragon to life, and only with the great sapphire, one of the five hearts of the dragon, could this be done. The sapphire held the element of water taken from Bagan, the very life-force of the beast.'

'Then this necromancer, this Kato that master Hoichi speaks of,' said Miki, 'he has found this sapphire and freed the monster. But what will he do now?'

The Cosmos looked at each other. 'He may have some influence over Bagan,' they said at last. 'But no force can completely control the devil-beast. Bagan will seek out the other shards of his soul, the other hearts of the dragon.'

'What will happen if Bagan gains these stones?' Miki asked, afraid to know the answer.

'Each one will restore some of his power,' Moll declared. 'Fire, earth, and air have yet to be restored to the monster.'

'But worst will be if Bagan is given the last shard, the power that was denied him in the ancient days.' Lora seemed to shudder as she contemplated that event.

'The last element,' the Cosmos said, 'is the power of Death. If Bagan gains it, it will be the end of us all.'

'It has started,' declared the young technician. He handed a set of photographs to Commander Aso. The grim Japanese officer looked at the grainy satellite photos.

'It is just as the crazy old man said,' he muttered under his breath. 

'No, sir,' corrected the technician. 'These photos show the monster in the Himalayas, but it is moving west, sir. Away from Japan.'

'But it doesn't make any sense,' Commander Aso mused. 'If this Kato Yasunori really did revive this monster to destroy Tokyo, why is it heading in the other direction?'

'Perhaps he was only able to free the beast, not control it,' suggested a junior UNGCC officer from behind Commander Aso. 'I hardly think we can take every bit of this superstitious nonsense the wizard told the security council at face value.'

'Hmph,' snorted Commander Aso. 'You did not see his trick with the shapeshifter. It was very convincing.' The UNGCC officer looked over at the communications center. 'Any word on what the Americans are doing? They have a fleet in the area as well as a lot of ground forces in Pakistan.'

'No, sir,' responded the communications officer. 'It seems they are remaining poised for military action of a more conventional sort.'

Commander Aso could imagine. The Taliban regime in Afghanistan was on borrowed time. The Americans, indeed, much of the world was howling for blood and the Taliban were stubbornly refusing to turn over the villain responsible for the outrage that had struck New York and Washington. It was only a matter of time before war struck the region. Commander Aso only hoped that with all eyes on human evil, the new threat of this new monster was not ignored until it was too late.

'Has the security council authorized deployment of the new weapon?' the junior officer asked.

'No, not yet,' Commander Aso replied. 'Minister Segawa wants to wait until the threat to Japan is firmly established. Still, I hear that the Super X-3 has been made ready. It seems he wants to keep our new toy a secret still, until we have no other choice but to use it.'

Commander Aso stared again at the photos. He had gotten his unspoken wish, a new monster to field the UNGCC's awesome weapon against. Now the commander wished he had not allowed his thoughts to stray in such a direction.

The dingy room was sweltering, the heat almost visibly rising from the floor. It seemed impossible that winter was in the air, for the icy north wind had as yet shown no hint of its presence in the desert wastes. The mud brick structure was without electrical air conditioning or the luxury of powered fans. Like most of the buildings in this backward and forsaken land, the only refuge offered was the thin thatch roof overhead that blocked out the direct fury of the sun's fiery light.

The room was not unique, by any count. The floor was dirt, the furnishings shabby and few, consisting largely of a large wooden table and a few chairs. A rug tacked to one wall masqueraded as a tapestry, hiding the stitch-like pattern of a Soviet assault rifle's discharge that had marred the surface of the interior wall for nearly two decades.

The men who stood in the room were as savage and primitive as the building they occupied. Swarthy men with thick, unkempt beards, rag-tag fatigues sloppily repaired in knee and crotch where years of constant wear had worn the fabric thin. Coarse turbans held the men's long hair close against their heads. Two of the men sported ill-maintained Soviet AK-47's while one of their companions held a long-barreled musket dating from the days of British Empire over his shoulder. The men cast sullen, hateful looks at the tall figure who stood at the center of the room, simmering in the presence of an infidel.

The scene was interrupted when another swarthy man entered the room. This one was not so poorly dressed as the others, woolen robes of black garbed his bulky frame and a turban of like material clothed his head. The man's black beard was showing the first taint of gray. Like his armed comrades, however, he too cast contemptuous eyes upon the outlander in his presence. The Muslim heretic smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression.

'What brings this infidel dog?' the zealot snarled. 'Seeking the blood money of your Jew and American masters?'

'I do no man's bidding,' the tall figure said, his voice low and sinister. Kato Yasunori raised his head, focusing his inhuman eyes upon the Taliban fanatic. 'I would have something that has been in your hands.'

'You will not find him,' the fanatic fairly spat, puffing himself up, and casting sidewise looks at his henchmen. 'We will not listen to the demands of infidels! We are the only true followers of Islam, and no nation can stand against us! The hands of our enemies shall become dust should they strike us!'

'I care not what hole your verminous masters hide within,' the necromancer hissed. 'I seek what you found when the Pun-chan Buddha was reduced to rubble. I seek the heart of the dragon.' 

The Taliban 'cleric's' eyes grew wide with alarm. 'We are faithful servants of Allah, disciples of the prophet, we would not sully our hands with any pagan image's works.'

Kato laughed, his voice echoing within the dingy room. 'Amusing. Such altruism is rare amongst even the purest holy men, much less a heretic rabble of half-literate fanatics. The heart of the dragon was hidden beneath the Buddha because even after a thousand years, no holy man in all China could bring himself to destroy it. Am I to believe that you have proven yourself of greater piety? Or am I to believe that you have chosen to keep the largest ruby the world has ever seen for yourselves?'

There was no mistaking the fury in the dervish's eyes now. 'Believe whatever you will, lap-dog of the devil!' The Islamic zealot snarled at his henchmen. The three militiamen raised their weapons and fired upon the Japanese sorcerer. The room became filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder, the air obscured by the gray smoke of the weapons' discharge.

When the smoke cleared, the necromancer stood unharmed. Kato's grin grew still wider, displaying his sharp, canine fangs. His eyes glowed in the shadow cast by the brim of his peaked cap.

'That,' the necromancer growled, 'was unwise.'

'It is heading into Afghanistan,' the soldier monitoring the satellite display announced. 'It is also destroying anything in its path, but seems to be following a pretty straightforward path.'

The control center was a frenzy of activity. Russian soldiers bustled about, trying to monitor all of the reports and information coming in. Suddenly, every man in the room went ridged, snapping to attention. Four guards, dressed in long red, double-breasted coats and sporting peaked caps adorned with an eagle entered the command center. Behind them came a short, broad and powerful-looking man. The man wore a dark green uniform fairly dripping with medals and a large fur hat of the sort a Cossack might have worn. A large scar ran down one side of the man's face, which was somewhat pudgy, though the nose was long and sharp. Tiny eyes glared at the Russian soldiers in the room. The new arrival removed his own heavy coat and threw it to one of the saluting soldiers. Then, his boots rasping on the tile floor, the man stormed over to the commanding officer.

Things had changed yet again in Russia. The faltering economy, rampant crime and corrupt politics had created a new despair in the long-suffering nation. From that despair had emerged General Ivan Vladimir Vasalov. Vasalov had lead the new revolution, a military junta that placed the government of Russia in the hands of the army. Vasalov had become ruler of the once mighty nation, declaring himself 'despot'. It was a fearsome, even loathsome title, but one that immediately commanded both fear and respect. His timing had been perfect. The world was on the brink of war and those foreign powers that might have protested the military coup most were desperate for having Russia firmly on their side. So, the death of democracy in Russia was hardly even reported in the West. It was just as well, Vasalov thought. He did not need the condemnation of the west just now. His people were almost on the point of starvation, Moscow was still in such a state of ruin that the capital had been moved to St. Petersburg, and he was still consolidating his power base. Russia was not ready for democracy, Vasalov believed. The mob had yet to understand the power of voting, and exploiters and criminals were running rampant in the meantime. No, his beloved Motherland needed a single guiding vision. That of Ivan Vladimir Vasalov.

'What is this about a new monster appearing in the Himalayas?' the ruler of Russia demanded. The general he addressed visibly winced at his leader's demand.

'We only just spotted it, your Excellency,' the general stuttered. Vasalov waved off his subject's excuses.

'I was told about this two hours ago my some of my Smursh men. What I want to know is what is it doing and where is it going?' Vasalov glared at the general, as if daring the man to refuse to answer his questions.

'It seems to be heading into Afghanistan,' the Russian officer dutifully responded. He noticed that all of the other soldiers in the room were looking away from the exchange, not willing to spy on the conversation and earn the wrath of their leader.

'Seems to be? I want certainty!' Vasalov roared. The small man raised his fist into the air and stabbed a finger at the sky. 'If there is even the slightest chance that this thing is heading towards the southern republics, I want Perun's Axe activated!' The declaration brought a shocked gasp from the general.

'But Excellency, the weapon's system could cause more destruction than the monster,' he protested.

'If you think I am going to spare some Afghan bastards so that the southern republics can be this thing's stomping ground, I will start looking for your replacement right now!' Vasalov barked, stepping so that he was in the shaken general's face. 'The safety of my people comes before anyone! You have Perun's Axe activated and ready. If that thing so much as looks north, I expect you to follow my orders.'

General Vasalov, Despot of all the Russias, turned to leave the command center.

'If you don't, I'll shoot you myself,' Vasalov snarled as he left the room.

Kato Yasunori watched from a small hilltop as the massive figure of Bagan stomped across the desert. Overhead, some of the antiquated Taliban attack planes screamed like a swarm of angry flies. At first, the ancient devil-beast had tried to attack the planes, but as soon as the dragon realized that the fighters could do him no harm with their feeble missiles and cannons, he came to ignore them. Even the three suicide attackers had done nothing more than waste their lives; the planes had impacted upon the monster's armored gray hide, exploding into a shower of metal shrapnel and debris. A more gruesome fate had befallen the tank crews of the Taliban militia. These had also been unable to harm the unstoppable Bagan, but, unlike the fighters, they were unable to escape the beast's anger. Bagan had pounced upon the tanks, seizing them one at a time. Lifting them high into the air in his clawed hands, Bagan had slowly crushed the armored vehicles, compacting them as surely and thoroughly as any car crusher. The men trapped inside were slowly reduced to a gory jelly.

The necromancer spared no pity on the doomed fanatics. It was because of their stupidity that he had not secured the ruby. Even after watching as Kato caused his guards to immolate by internal combustion, a most horrible death, the Taliban cleric had refused to tell Kato what he wanted to know. The zealot's death would be spoken of in these lands for centuries. If Bagan left anyone alive to pass on the tale.

The dragon instinctively knew where to find the heart of the dragon, the shard of his soul. It would have been much quicker if Kato had been able to secure it and give it to the devil-beast himself, but Bagan would find it on his own. Indeed, perhaps these stubborn vermin deserved what would happen to them. His vengeance upon Tokyo was being needlessly delayed while Bagan sought the heart of the dragon. Kato saw no reason to overly concern himself with the fate of those who had caused this delay.

Another suicide pilot veered downwards, slamming his plane into Bagan's thick, horned skull. The plane exploded, a plume of fire rising from the dragon-demon's head. Bagan grunted lowly, annoyed at the momentary obscurement of his vision as the black smoke and white fire engulfed his face. Like everything else, it was but a momentary delay. Bagan would have what he was looking for, and there was nothing that was going to stop him.

On Ogasawara Island, Mothra turned her head skywards. Her massive mandibles opened and she uttered a shrill cry. Beneath her huge, gossamer-like wings, the grub-like form of her offspring wriggled forward, emerging into the feeble light that penetrated the huge tarp that covered Mothra's nest. The egg had hatched the previous night, far too early. The caterpillar was very weak. It had been yet another effect of Bagan's release. The sudden surge of evil had so disturbed the incubating pupa that it had forced its way to liberty. Fortunately, the caterpillar was formed enough to survive the premature hatching.

Mothra stared downwards, favoring the hideous worm-like creature with her brilliant blue multi-faceted eyes. The moth goddess chirped a second time, more lowly and softly than before, trying to reassure the caterpillar. She stared again at the nearby figure that thought to sulk in the jungle canopy. Once already the ever-hungry Baragon had tried to snatch the caterpillar from Mothra's protection. Even the super-saurs' advanced healing would take weeks to repair the damage. Still, the voracious beast was not willing to give up his idea of making a meal of the weak moth-larva.

Mothra shrieked again, fanning her wings. The evil had awakened again, but it was still weak. She had no time to waste if Bagan was to be stopped. If the monster grew in power, it might prove unbeatable, especially since she did not know if any of her ancient allies would still be able to aid her in such a battle. No, Mothra would have to act and act swiftly if she was to stop Bagan before the demon-dragon grew too powerful to be stopped.

Mothra sent her thoughts slithering across the island. She had already attempted to manipulate Baragon into leaving her larva alone, but the brute's hunger had proven too overwhelming to subdue. Now Mothra decided to try a different approach. She reached out, prodding a slumbering mind into awareness, drawing one of Monsterland's other denizens towards her nest.

The low, howl-like bark sounded as the armored reptile charged the lurking Baragon. Baragon roared his anger, but did not stand his ground. He had already learned that he was no match for this new adversary, and Baragon was not a beast that repeated his mistakes. With a last snarl, the floppy-eared monster retreated back towards the nearby cliff and the huge tunnel that he had dug for himself.

Mothra flapped her wings and emerged from beneath the canopy. She chirped again, a sound meant to thank Anguirus for his aid, though the other monster had no way of understanding the sound. The spike-backed dinosaur moved to the mouth of the shelter, preventing the caterpillar from emerging and pursuing its parent. Satisfied that her offspring would be looked after, that Anguirus was fully within the thrall of her mental suggestion, the huge insect deity rose into the sky. She circled the island once before speeding away northwards and the horrible fiend she, like her long-ago ancestor, was destined to face. 

Below, Mothra's larva uttered a shrill, mournful cry. 

'Sir, the monster Bagan appears to be heading towards a village just north-west of Kabul,' the US Navy ensign reported to the admiral.

'Shall we scramble the flight crews?' one of the other navy officers asked.

'No,' replied the admiral. 'Have them on stand-by, but don't put them on alert just yet. If that creature starts heading towards Pakistan, then we will strike, but I am not about to let any of our boys die defending that Taliban scum.'

The admiral sighed heavily. 'These people have chosen to make themselves our enemy. Now they can deal with that.' The admiral's face grew still grimmer. With the power of an entire aircraft carrier task force at his command, a disturbing realization had entered the officer's mind. 'Besides, from what the reports have told us about this monster, I am not so very certain that we can hurt it anyway.'

The woman wore a heavy blue veil that hung from the top of her head to just below her knees. It was twilight, and the woman was hurrying home, desperate to have dinner ready for her husband less she receive another beating at his hands. A few thin rounded loaves of bread were tucked under her arm as she hurried through the narrow dirt streets of the village. Then, the woman stopped, the bread falling from her hands. In horror, she removed the heavy, obscuring veil and its narrow, gauze-like slit to gaze upon the site with her own eyes. A turbaned man saw her and immediately raced over, a heavy stick in his hand. Shouting obscenities, the bearded man began to viciously beat the woman. Still, the woman's eyes were locked upon the sight that had so unnerved her, even as a bone in her arm snapped under the stick's impact.

Bestial eyes glared downwards from a great height, staring at the sorry spectacle of the Taliban enforcer beating the woman. The huge demon drank in the woman's pain and horror, savoring it as a man might enjoy fine wine. The moment passed and Bagan advanced once more upon the village. His heavy armored foot descended, blotting out the light. The Taliban enforcer had enough time to look up and begin to scream before the foot crushed both himself and his victim into nothingness.

Bagan snorted, the sound echoing across the village. Terrified people leaned from their windows, shocked to see the enormous beast standing on the outskirts of their settlement. Some fainted, others raced out into the darkening night, running for their lives. Many darted back into their homes, cowering in terror within their mud-brick homes. Bagan stood still, savoring the terror of the villagers, sucking in their fear like an opium addict at his pipe. 

Bagan leaned downwards, his head only feet from the roofs of the village. His nostrils flared as he smelled the cowering souls within the buildings. The monster opened his jaws, thick ropes of saliva drooling downwards to form corrosive puddles in the dirt streets. Then the demon roared.

From so very near, the sound was like the boom of a supersonic plane. Eardrums exploded as the vibration struck. Men, women and children perished where they hid after a second of intense agony. Bagan swirled his body around, roaring again and again, harvesting the souls of the village with his hideous assault. The monster's claws and tail smashed down the mud buildings, crushing them into dust. With a snarl, Bagan reared upwards again, marching relentlessly towards the only structure that still stood, the village mosque. 

Bagan loomed above the mosque, a juggernaut of destruction. The demon paused for only an instant, as though trying to overcome the sanctity of the place. But, already defiled by decades of heresy, whatever protection the place might have once offered had long since been weakened. Contemptuously, Bagan swiped his claw through the tile roof and began to demolish the building.

Deep beneath the building, a man cowered. Dressed in military fatigues, a long white turban encasing his head, the cringing terrorist prayed to the god he served for salvation. It had been a long time since he had prayed to his god in any manner of sincerity. He was not a devoutly religious man. For him, religion was but a tool, a flag to wave before easily led men, an excuse to lead men to throw their lives away in some imagined bid to ascend to heaven. Islam had served him well; he had become one of the most feared men on the planet. That he was also the most hated did not concern him too much.

Again, the terrorist's eyes strayed to the huge gleaming ruby. It was a gift from the Taliban. Tribute, actually, since without him and the terror his name inspire, and the guns of his fanatic followers, the oppressed people of Afghanistan would have long ago risen up and torn these zealots to shreds with their bare hands. It was a joke, the rulership of the Taliban. In truth, the only ruler of this land was terror.

The ruby seemed to pulse and throb, the wooden stand it was upon began to smolder. The air around it began to warp, the way it would around a raging fire. The terrorist marveled at the sight. Perhaps the gem truly was accursed, just as that old Muslim priest had claimed when it had been found in the minutes before the Taliban had ordered the cleric stoned to death. The terrorist had always intended to sell the gem, to fund his plots and schemes. But he had never been able to bring himself to do so. Somehow the gem had always filled him with a sense of power. It was as though it had magnified his own personality, filling his mind with ever-greater visions of destruction, planting the seeds of ever grander and more horrible plots within his mind. Indeed, his entire vision had changed, if he was truthful to himself. His network of terrorists was no longer devoted to liberating any land, or pursuing any political goal. To be sure, these were the excuses and many of his followers truly believed them, but the real purpose was so much different. The real purpose was death and terror and destruction for its own sake, nothing more.

Perhaps, the Arab realized, he had kept the ruby too long.

The floor of the mosque crumbled, revealing the bunker below. Bagan snarled, a sound of triumph. The great demon reached into the hole-like depression with his claws and withdrew two things. In one claw, the dragon held the smoldering ruby, in the other he held the screaming body of the cringing man that had been lying within the hole.

Bagan crushed the ruby. It exploded in his hand, a great fiery conflagration that cast blazing tendrils all about the monster. Bagan hissed in pain as the fires swept inwards, sinking through his armored hide and slithering back into his body. The monster's gray armor remained the same somber hue, but the flesh beneath darkened, becoming a reddish hue. The monster's head reared backwards and he sent a great stream of fire shooting into the night sky.

The man in Bagan's paw cried in horror. The monster's head shot around, as though noticing the terrorist for the first time. Bagan's reptilian features crinkled into a hideous look of rage. This creature had touched his soul, had allowed a part of Bagan into itself. Awful energies streamed from Bagan's body and began to fill the screaming Arab. Then, Bagan's paw began to slowly close around the man's body.

First, the terrorist's ribcage cracked and splintered, skewering his internal organs with splinters of bone. A great blob of blood and bone drooled from the man's mouth, seeping into his beard. Bagan paused, savoring the man's agony, allowing more of his energy to seep into the man and prevent him from dying. Then, Bagan began to slowly squeeze once more. Soon, the sound of more bones cracking and splintering and again the monster paused, savoring the pain.

Many long minutes later, after every last drop of agony had been wrenched from the terrorist's body, Bagan's paw closed into a fist. A thin bloody paste dripped from the monster's hand, the pulverized mortal remains of the terrorist. Bagan roared and turned away. He could still sense the man's soul, writhing within the demon's heart like those of all his other victims, but in time that too would cease to be noticeable as it became fully engulfed in the hell of a demon's soul.


	5. IV: Mothra vs Bagan

****

Koumajutsu

The Coming of Bagan

By C. L. Werner

Chapter IV:

Mothra vs Bagan

Bagan fairly seethed with power. The aspect of fire had re-entered his demonic soul, bringing the terrible dragon one step closer to becoming complete once more. Heat sizzled from his body, warping the air around him. The great horned head roared into the night sky, then reared downwards. Sheets of pulsating flame blasted from Bagan's gaping maw, scouring huge craters in the Afghan countryside, leveling hills and crumbling a far-off mountainside, reducing one face of the peak into a pile of rubble. Bagan roared his unearthly bellow again, turning in position and blasting the land all about him. Nearly all of those who had fled the now vanished village were caught in the searing waves of flame, instantly charred into ash by the force of the intense demonic flame. 

Bagan roared again, turning away from the ruins and stomping away to the south. The village had done nothing to sate the demon's appetite for souls. Brimming with power, the demon-beast was filled with an urge to destroy, to drink the screams of agony and terror of a cowering city. The existence of Kabul could now be measured in hours.

'Stand-down,' the admiral repeated to his staff. 'Those are the orders from the President. American forces are not to engage the monster Bagan so long as it is within Afghanistan's borders.'

'Sir,' objected one of the communications officers. 'Have you seen the sattelite photos? Unless that thing is stopped, there won't be any Afghanistan!'

'We have our orders,' the admiral responded, somewhat testily. 'All we can do for those people now is to pray for them.' 

'Perhaps we should pray for ourselves too,' added the comms officer. 'Because I don't think that thing is going to stop when he finishes with Kabul.'

Gossamer wings beat swiftly through the night sky. Flying at a speed beyond belief, Mothra's rainbow-hued wings soared over Vietnam, Thailand and Laos. Past the peaks of the mighty Himalayas, the same grim sentinels that had at last revealed to the world their grim charge. Over the sub-continent of India, above the ancient temples of gods that were young compared to Mothra's timeless heritage. Across Pakistan, where a flight of U.S. Airforce fighter jets narrowly avoided a mid-air collision with the massive being. Patrolling against a southward advance from the monster ravaging Afghanistan, the fighters had not expected another monster to appear from the other direction.

'Able flight to control,' the flight leader radioed back to the US task force. 'We have just sighted Mothra. She is heading north at great speed.'

'Break off contact,' the radio crackled back after a moment's pause. The flight commander could well imagine the excitement that this new information had caused. If the American military was not authorized to enter the combat zone, there was no such prohibition preventing Mothra from doing so. Silently, the flight commander wished the departed moth goddess all the luck in the world.

Despot Ivan Vladimir Vasalov stormed over to the sweating Russian general in the command center. The expression on the short, bear-like Russian ruler was not a pleasant one.

'Have you seen the reports being made about what that thing is doing to Kabul?' the despot snarled. 'He is tearing through that place like a wolf through a hen house!'

'I know, Excellency,' responded the general, nervously tugging at his moustache. 'We are analyzing all of our options.' The general showed his commander a series of reports and communiques that had come to the command center. The Russian army was already advancing toward the southern borders. Vasalov glared at the dispatches and threw them contemptuously in the officer's face.

'You call that an acceptible response?' Vasalov growled. 'I am not throwing away the lives of my people, be they civilian or soldier! Just because my people are willing to die for the Motherland, does not mean that I should ask them to do so needlessly.' Vasalov turned his bull neck so that he could scan the command center. After examining the room, he stared into the general's eyes. 'How soon before Perun's Axe will be in position?' The general seemed to visibly grow pale.

'You would not…' Vasalov waved away the man's objections.

'How soon?' he repeated.

'It will be over the site within fifteen minutes,' the generall answered. 'But the damage it will cause would be astronomical!'

'Those people are dead anyway,' Vasalov replied. 'The monster will kill them. We can't afford to worry about collateral damage. All we need to be concerned about is stopping that monster and sparing the Motherland from its attentions!'

Bagan loomed over the broken skyline of the shattered city. Fires blazed everywhere, thick black smoke hanging close to the ground like a shadowy fog. Many of the mud-brick buildings had exploded when Bagan's caustic breath struck them, pummeling fleeing civilians with fused, rock-hard shrapnel. It amused Bagan to watch the citizens of Kabul try to escape from him. Just as he had done to Shangri-la, the demon had first blasted the outskirts of the city into a wall of rubble, then he had advanced upon the inner regions. A handful of tanks and primitive rocket launchers had been deployed against him. He made certain that the crews of the weapons had time to regret their suicidal bravery before they were consumed by his demonic soul.

From outside the city, Kato watched the devil-beast indulge its wicked drives. Even the necromancer was stunned by the horrible efficiency of this demon he had released. A part of him was transfixed by the sight of Bagan destroying everything in his path, ravaging the city more thoroughly than any earthquake. True, the necromancer was annoyed by this further delay in the destruction of Tokyo, but his hold upon the monster was exceedingly slight. Bagan would lay waste to the accursed megalopolis, but he would do so only when he was ready to do so. All the sorcerer could do was watch and wait.

Suddenly, Bagan lifted his head high into the night air, dropping a mouthful of Afghans to break their bones upon the hard desert floor hundreds of feet below. Kato followed the monster's gaze, sensing what the demon sensed. A powerful entity was coming, a force opposed to the darkness. An aspect of the light. Kato snarled in rage even as Bagan roared his anger. The demon was not yet at full power. A battle now could possibly result in his defeat. Kato tried to prod the dragon from pursuing the coming conflict. The resulting wave of annoyance nearly sent the necromancer into a coma. 

Bagan would not shy away from any adversary, be it god or mortal.

Mothra flew towards the burning city. She could see the evil titan looming over the wreckage, an aura of heat shimmering around his form. Though she had never set eyes upon this nightmarish creature, her ancestor long ago had, and that memory had been imprinted within the minds of every succeeding generation of Mothra. Bagan, the lord of death. Mothra could tell that the demon was not yet at his full power. There was a chance that she would be able to defeat the fiend in this vulnerable state.

Mothra shrieked her challenge, sending bolts of electrical power surging from her antennae to scour the demon's armored hide. Bagan roared as the bolts struck his body, but whether from pain or contempt, his attacker could not tell. The demon responded, opening his mouth wide, sending a pulsing wave of fiery energy blasting toward Mothra. Narrowly, Mothra was able to dodge the deadly wave of destruction, firing another series of energy bolts as she maneuvered away from Bagan's attack. Again, the demon roared.

Bagan stomped forwards, for once heedless of the lives his crushed beneath his clawed feet. A different kind of bloodlust welled up within his evil heart. Vengeance! He recognized this creature now, recognized it as one of those that had defeated him so long ago, imprisoned him within an icy tomb. He would savor this creature's pain. Perhaps he would allow it to linger for days before he swallowed its soul. A second gout of fiery doom narrowly missed Mothra's wing.

Mothra beagn to circle the massive dragon, blasting the beast with her powerful electrical energy bolts. The crackling lightning lanced into Bagan's body, causing the brute to roar. Bagan attempted to follow Mothra's circling form, but was unable to keep up with the fast flying goddess. Mothra rose higher still, shimmering pollen raining down upon the demon below, coating him in a prismatic dust. The pollen was the moth goddess' most potent form of defense, so powerful that it had even been able to reflect Godzilla's atomic ray back upon him. 

Bagan writhed as the pollen settled upon his head and shoulders, his face twisted in loathing. The dragon's eyes narrowed and closed upon the circling Mothra. He watched as a ring of energy began to form in the wake of the deity. Mothra began to fly still faster, the ring becoming more and more solid as she did so. Then, a cross formed within the center of the ring. A tremendous wave of energy surged downwards, slamming into the demon, almost crushing him to the ground.

Mothra's seal was her most potent weapon. With its awesome power, she had re-imprisoned the awful Death Ghidorah and the sea monster Dagara. Now, Mothra hoped to use the same powerful attack to vanquish the threat of Bagan before it could truly begin.

Mothra swooped downwards as a thick pall of smoke and dust rose from where the seal had settled upon Bagan. She watched and waited, seeking any sign that the monster had been defeated. Her reply took the form of a blazing beam of fire that narrowly missed her body, scouring a deep trench in the ground below her. Charging out of the smoke was the furious demon. Bagan roared again and sent a second beam of fire at Mothra, even as she tried to climb back into the night sky.

The beam blasted through Mothra's right wing, burning a huge hole in the gossamer material. Mothra screamed in pain and fell to the earth like a stone. Bagan snorted and stormed forward. Even as Mothra sent a few feeble blasts of energy searing into his body, Bagan reached down. The demon's claw closed around Mothra's right antenna. With a sadistic effort, Bagan ripped the appendage from Mothra's head. Pulpy green ichor bubbled from the wound and Mothra let out a hideous scream of agony. By way of response, Bagan uttered a series of short growls, exactly as if the monster were laughing. Bagan grasped one of Mothra's legs and began to pull.

Mothra strained against the demonic hold, putting every ounce of her fading strength into the effort. Bagan held firm, his grip as sure as that of steel. It was a determined struggle, and at last something had to give. Mothra pulled away from Bagan, her shrill scream of pain again sounding in the night. Bagan raised the disembodied limb still in his hand to his face. The dragon's nostrils sniffed at it for a moment, then he threw it aside like a piece of rubbish. 

Mothra writhed on the ground, flapping her wings and shaking her head in the grip of her suffering. Pulpy ichor drooled from the wounds in her head and where her missing leg had been. Bagan stared at his injured, ravaged foe. Hissing lowly, the demon began to stalk forward. He was enjoying this uneven conflict, and the demon knew that Mothra's suffering had only just begun.

Within the command center of the Monsterland facility, Colonel Sho Kuroki met with the members of the newly established KNIFE team. At his side was the wizard, Hoichi. Kuroki had asked the mystic to accompany him so that he could better explain the nature of the enemy they now faced. The discussion had been long, but at last Hoichi appeared to have convinced the other KNIFE members that at least some of what he was telling them was true.

'Even as we speak, Mothra is fighting Bagan in Afghanistan,' Kenichi Yamane said, his voice quite and unemotional. 'No details have yet been reported, but I think it can safely be assumed that she will triumph over this enemy, as she always has. I mean, she defeated King Ghidorah without any human assistance, surely this monster Bagan could be no more of a trial for her to overcome.'

'I have seen this Bagan in my dreams,' Miki Saegusa said. 'If you had sensed him as I have, tasted the tremendous evil of the creature, you would know that the likes of this monster has never been seen by man.' The young psychic shuddered as she recalled the horrible sensation that had roused her from her sleep.

'It took seven great beings to defeat the monster before,' Hoichi said, grimly. 'Bagan is as yet still very weak compared to what he was before, but I have grave concerns that already he is beyond the power of Mothra. Even now, the twin priestesses are busy trying to collect powerful energies about Mothra's offspring, trying to mature it faster, prepare it for the coming battle. No,' master Hoichi shook his shaven head, 'I fear that Mothra will be unable to do anything more than delay the monster, and I fear that she may do so only at the cost of her own life.'

'Perhaps we might try to search out these other guardians, those that survived,' American monster expert Aaron Vaught proposed. 'The demon was imprisoned in the Himalayas, perhaps some record of his past and the whereabouts of his ancient enemies might survive there.' Aaron Vaught paused, leafing through the notebooks set before him. 'I understand that the demon first appeared in the kingdom of Selgia, that might prove a good place to begin our search.'

Sho Kuroki nodded. 'That might be a good idea. I think you should follow up on that train of thought. Bagan may have left some clues about himself in his tomb. At this point, any concrete information we can gain about him would be helpful. I think that you and Yamane should go to Selgia, your background in folklore will offset Yamane's scientific training and give us a more balanced view of what you might discover.'

'They wil need some protection,' added Peter Daxton, the former CIA opperative. I suggest that myself and Roche accompany them. The region is still unstable and I imagine that the monster's rampage has not improved matters.'

'Point well taken,' Colonel Kuroki responded.

'I will go as well,' Hoichi decided, bowing to the KNIFE team members. 'Of us all, I know the most about Bagan and his master Kato Yasunori. It may be that I will be able to see clues where you do not.'

'Very well,' agreed Colonel Kuroki. 'I suggest you all find some warm clothes. I will inform Dr. Otani that we will be needing one of his planes.'

In the darkness of space, a massive object silently orbited the earth. Massive, gold-hued solar panels slowly revolved to soak in the last rays of the sun before entering the darkness of earth's nightside. The huge batteries within the man-made satellite were filled to capacity. A large, radar-like device rotated to face the ground of the planet far below. Perun's Axe was the successor to the Soviet Union's satellite-based nuclear missiles. This next generation weapon was not nuclear-based however, but an advancement in the field of radiological and microwave weaponry. Designed to strike any point on the planet's surface, named for the weapon of Russia's ancient pagan god of war, Perun's Axe would destroy any army that thought to march upon Russia with the power of the sun itself. A terrible weapon of mass destruction, there had never been any cause for the weapon to be deployed.

Until now.

Bagan stalked closer toward Mothra. Then the monster stopped, aware of the strange blue light that was surrounding him. Bagan stared all around, trying to find the source of the eerie light. Then, the sun reached down and touched the earth.

The wave of solar energy slammed into the devastation of Kabul with a force never seen before. Sand vaporized and solid stone was instantly transformed into molten slag. A huge hole, nearly three miles wide and almost half a mile deep. Steam, vapor and smoke rose into the night sky in the aftermath of the assault. Suddenly, the smoke took on a bluish hue. Once again, the limitless power of the sun reached down and struck the earth. As far away as London, the impact was recorded and rattled windowframes. Nearer, earthquakes ravaged an already devastated land.

Determined to be certain of the demon's destruction, Despot Vasalov ordered the weapon fired again, despite the protests of his staff. The solar beam shuddered through the atmosphere, bending and warping as it did so. Rather than striking a single location, the beam dug a huge trail of obliteration across the landscape. A fifteen mile wide two mile long scar was burned across the desert, destroying everything around it. With the disastrous miss, even Vasalov agreed to cease the attack.

As the smoke cleared, it appeared that the attack from space had been successful. There was no sign of the hideous demon beast. Mothra, spared the weapon's attention, slowly crawled away from the bubbling slag of the destroyed area, then fell, unable to maintain her hold over the pain wracking her body.

Kato glared at the devastation. It was impossible, no weapon of science could destroy the demon! Rage and fury gripped the necromancer. Then his face spilt into a demonic grin. 

Within the pit, within the molten slag, something floated to the surface. It was a huge, brown-red cocoon. Kato could see the cocoon throb and pulse. Yes, they had succeeded in destroying Bagan's body, but the demon was primarily a spiritual creature. Already his evil energies were reforming, incubating within a bubble of pure evil, growing a new body.

It was another delay, but now Kato was certain that Tokyo would fall. No force on earth, not weapons of super-science, not ancient gods, could stop Bagan.

The two figures wearily made their way down the slopes of the towering mountains. Ahead, the lights of Selgia's capital burned in the night, a beacon to the two tired travelers.

The taller of the two figures helped the shorter to regain his feet. As he did so, a fury inhuman hand emerged from the sleeve of his coat. Varga adjusted his grip on the man and together they continued to make their way toward the outpost of civilization below. The yeti was indebted to the British botanist for saving his life, catching hold of him before he could plummet off the side of an overhang following the sorcerous attack of the necromancer. Indeed, it had been Rollason who had first started them on the trail back down to Selgia. But the scientist was not as well equipped for the mountains as Varga, and now the yeti was concerned that his charge would perish before they reached the safety of the city.

Darker thoughts filled the yeti's mind however. Bagan was freed, and already, no doubt, retrieving the other pieces of his stolen soul. Soon, the monster would be unstoppable. He would have to see Princess Salno at once, try to warn the humans of what they faced. 

Otherwise there would be no end to the darkness.


	6. V: Curse of the Dragon

Koumajutsu  
  
The Coming of Bagan  
  
By C. L. Werner  
  
Chapter V:  
  
Curse of the Dragon  
  
Slowly, they came. A few at first, then more and more. The survivors, a rabble of Afghans fortunate enough to have lived through the horror of Bagan's assault and the deadly attack from Perun's Axe. They came and they stood at the lip of the massive crater that now contained the pulsating, throbbing cocoon. They watched as the slimy, reddish-colored thing continued to swell. They watched and they prayed, as if they could buy their lives from the awful thing gestating within the cocoon with their pledges of devotion and servitude.  
  
Kato sneered as he watched the pathetic rabble gather. He knew better. He knew that there was no living thing Bagan would spare, in the end. Certainly nothing that offered him the promise of power and nourishment. By praying to the dark evil within the crater, the fools were only honoring their own executioner.  
  
Peter Daxton let his one good eye focus on the armed guards that flanked the members of the KNIFE team. When they had landed at Selgia's only modern airfield, the team had been met by a delegation from the ruling Princess Selina Salno herself. The armed guards were supposedly an honor guard, but Daxton's suspicious mind was always ready for any hint of danger or treachery.  
  
Beside Daxton walked the aged wizard Hoichi, his white priest's robes billowing around him in the chill mountain breeze that wailed through the streets of the city. It seemed that the old Japanese man should have been frozen solid, but he seemed to not even notice the icy wind. Further evidence, the others in the group agreed, that there was such a thing as true magic.  
  
The other three KNIFE members followed Daxton and Hoichi. Philip Roche, the French commando, had placed himself in a position from which he could quickly disarm the guards at the rear of the procession, though the Frenchman seemed much more relaxed than Daxton. Ken Yamane and Aaron Vaught both seemed utterly mesmerized by the ancient buildings of the city, their eyes and attention captivated by the weird architecture that had been old when the castles of Europe were new. That fascination only increased when they found themselves being conducted into the massive palace of Selgia's ruling family. A huge, almost monastic building, the palace had withstood the attentions of the Mongol hordes during the conquests of the Khans, and, if legend held truth, had even turned away the army of Alexander the Great. Yet, it was an elegant appearing structure, lacking the brutish grimness of most fortresses, almost a fairy tale castle in a fairy tale land.  
  
The honor guard and their guide, the prime minister of Selgia, a portly Sherpa wearing a large fluffy frill around his neck, led their guests through the lavish halls and chambers of the palace until the group found themselves standing before the Princess herself in the ornately decorated throne room.  
  
'On behalf of the people of Selgia, I welcome you to our land,' Princess Salno said, her voice stilted but not unfriendly.  
  
'I could only wish that it were a less grim errand that caused us to accept your hospitality, your Highness,' responded Hoichi before Peter Daxton could speak. The old wizard bent nearly in half as he bowed before the seated royalty.  
  
'Indeed,' said Princess Salno, her voice grave. 'The demon-beast Bagan has long haunted the legends and ancient history of my land.' The Princess licked her lips nervously. 'It is said that his awakening heralds the end of the world.'  
  
'Not if we can stop him,' declared Daxton.  
  
'And how would you do that?' asked Princess Salno, her tone like that of a parent reacting to some nonsense spoken by a child.  
  
'That is what we have come here to find out,' Aaron Vaught addressed the ruler of Selgia, interposing himself between Daxton and the Princess. 'Very little is known of Bagan, even in the ancient texts and records available to us. We had hoped to see the site where he was imprisoned long ago, perhaps learn how he was contained and repeat that process.'  
  
'Mr. Vaught,' Princess Salno smiled, 'it took seven great guardians to defeat this beast before, and four of them perished in the task. If the guardians could fall before this evil, what hope does poor mankind have? No, to visit the tomb of Bagan would avail you nothing. The past is the past.'  
  
'But if we knew more about the ancient battle, perhaps we could awaken the surviving guardians, enlist their aid in defeating this demon a second time,' Aaron Vaught pressed his case.  
  
'Or, on the more practical side, we could try to recreate the methods these guardians used to defeat Bagan,' Kenichi Yamane added.  
  
Princess Salno was silent for a moment, deep in thought. At last, she nodded.  
  
'You have come from very far away. You should not leave here without the knowledge which you seek.'  
  
'Then you will allow us to journey to the Litze Valley?' asked Peter Daxton.  
  
'No, such a trip will not be necessary,' declared Princess Salno. The Princess clapped her hands together. An ornate door was opened by one of her servants. Two figures entered the room. One was a haggard looking European. The other was slightly shorter and huskier, his face concealed within a fur-trimmed hood. 'Varga,' Princess Salno said, pointing at the shorter of the two figures, 'can tell you all that you need to know about the ancient battle that imprisoned Bagan. He has long been studying to become a Watchika, a protector of his people and as such knows much of their deadliest foe.'  
  
Varga stepped forward, pulling back the fur-trimmed hood as he did so. Even Hoichi was shocked as the inhuman, hairy features of the yeti's face stood revealed. But the appearance of the yeti was far less amazing than the ancient tale he had been summoned to relate.  
  
Moll and Lora stared down at the battered, ravaged form of Mothra. The two Cosmos choked back tears as they watched Mothra struggle to crawl away from the deep hole that housed Bagan's cocoon. Evil hung thick in the air and the moth goddess knew that in such a polluted environment, she would be unable to draw upon the energy of the earth to heal her wounds, to try and regain even a small measure of her strength. As it was, she was too weak even to fly. Every kilometer she crawled was agony, green pulp oozing from her severed leg.  
  
'She is dying,' Moll said. 'She was too late, the demon was already too powerful for her to overcome.' Lora, standing beside her sister nodded gravely. The tiny Fairy Mothra chirrped sadly, seeming to share in the deity's pain.  
  
'With her gone, how can Bagan be stopped this time?' Lora wondered. Suddenly, both Cosmos looked skyward. A small gray and black shape flitted through the dust-ridden sky. The shape drew closer, resolving itself into a bird-sized reptile, a tiny winged dragon. Garu-garu snorted and growled sullenly as the figure seated on his back kicked him and made him descend. The woman mounted on the pseudo-dragon was dressed in black, her face as hardened as it was beautiful.  
  
'Cry for yourselves, not for Mothra,' sneered Belvera, the third Elias sister. 'Bagan will not spare anyone, in the end, not even fairies.' The impish Cosmo cackled with dark mirth.  
  
'Must you add to the misery?' Moll shouted at the dark fairy. 'Is there not enough suffering here that you do not need to add any more?'  
  
''What will we do?' Belvera mocked. 'Mothra can't stop Bagan now. You must forget about her!'  
  
'How can you say such a thing!' gasped a horrified Lora.  
  
'There are others that fought Bagan before, and survived,' Belvera said. 'You should seek their aid. Perhaps they would be able to stop Bagan in time. Already, Tuol has awakened. You must agree to release the other.'  
  
'No,' declared Moll. 'He would be just as terrible as Bagan. Thousands would die if he was again set free!'  
  
'Everything will die if Bagan is allowed to regain his soul, and this time nothing will be able to stop him.' Belvera glared at her sisters. 'You know what must be done. If some humans must die, then that is as it must be. If you try to save everyone, then they will all die.'  
  
The Cosmos looked for a long time at the crippled, ravaged frame of Mothra. They stared at each other, sharing their thoughts. As one, they turned and faced Belvera.  
  
'There is no other way,' Lora said. 'Even Mothra thinks so now.'  
  
'We will go with you Belvera,' Moll added. 'We will help you undo the wards and seals. But once Bagan has been defeated, we will not rest until the monster is back in his cage.'  
  
'I will look forward to that contest,' Belvera grinned as she kicked Garu-garu with her heels. The tiny dragon snarled and lifted into the air. The Cosmos watched as their wicked sister departed. Then, with resigned steps, they climbed onto the back of the Fairy Mothra. The little spirit creature rose into the sky and flew after Belvera's dragon.  
  
The KNIFE members watched as Varga stood before them. Another yeti had appeared, a strange mandolin-like instrument clasped in his furred hands. As Varga spoke, he did so in the chirp-like language of the yeti, the other snowman strumming the instrument to emphasize the ancient stanzas of the legend. From her throne, Princess Salno translated the tale for her guests.  
  
The time of change had come  
  
The last age of magic  
  
The end of the elder world  
  
The first hour of man  
  
The world was very different in that time between legend and history, between the age of sorcerers and the hour of science. Dark R'lyeh had long ago sunk into the depths, taking the starspawn and their grim god-priest into their timeless slumber. But other lands yet defied the sea. Atlantis, the flowering gem of the ancient world was still above the ocean waves, towers of marble reaching into the sky, a land of such advances in science and sorcery that were never known before or since. Lemuria was home to the thriving civilization of the Cosmos, starfaring wanderers who had been driven from their adopted home on Mars by King Ghidorah centuries ago. Mu dominated the Pacific, a great land ruled by philosophers and practicing a perfect harmony with all living things. But these were not the only nations in this world in transition. Already, the Atlantean colony in South America had broken away from its parent nation, though it had not yet truly evolved into the Inca  
civilization. Powerful magicians had carved out a kingdom in the Nile Delta, a land called Egypt. In China, the oldest empire to ever flourish on the earth was already beginning to form as tiny villages and towns joined and merged to form cities and provinces.  
  
But oldest of all these lands was the empire of the Meh-teh. Encompassing much of middle Asia, the Meh-teh would eventually be forgotten by man, lingering on only as legends, as Rakshasa, as werewolves and wildmen. In truth, the Meh-teh was the oldest terrestrial civilization, formed not by men, but by one of man's close relatives, creatures known to science as Gigantopithecus, but who called themselves the Yeti. Over the course of ages, the yeti had acquired considerable knowledge of the mystic arts, and had even catalogued the forbidden art of demon summoning, though they would never dare employ such vile sorcery.  
  
There were older intelligences than the yeti. The dragons had long lingered upon the earth, providing future nations with countless legends and myths. Semi-spiritual beings, the dragons were fading into the realm of ghosts, forsaking the physical world for a higher existence. All save one.  
  
From the east the great destroyer came  
  
A soul of darkness blazing with the fury of a captured demon's might  
  
The last of the dragons, but a dragon no more  
  
Bagan, and with him walked doom.  
  
Bagan ravaged the lands of the yeti, stalking amongst them as he had the lands of the first Chinese. Death followed his passing, misery hung about the demon-dragon like an aura of suffering, ruining whatever life it did not take with despair. The intent of the terrible dragon was not known, even to the few dragon spirits that deigned to commune with mortal minds. The seers and oracles of the Meh-teh and China were unable to learn what this great beast was or what its purpose might be. Then, from a far off land, there came a tiny priestess of the Cosmos race. Ordained by the temple of Mothra, the dark clad priestess was a servant of the Earth-spirit itself. It was she, and she alone, who had discovered the nature of the rampaging monster, and his purpose. The monster was bound for the roof of the world, to draw into himself the tremendous power of Death. If Bagan were to succeed in his dark purpose, all life on the planet would perish.  
  
A council of war was hastily convened. The Meh-teh would send their protectors, the mighty Watchika, a breed of yeti who had, through spiritual means, become powerful giants, some fifty feet tall. The Watchika would strive to overcome and contain the great beast while the other lands of the Earth sent their own protectors to defeat the terrible dragon.  
  
The Watchika climbed to heaven's door  
  
Their thought to deny the demon his desire  
  
Four score and five they fell upon him  
  
Four score and five they died.  
  
Bagan rose from the torn and ravaged remains of the Watchika, strips of their bloodied fur hanging from his claws. The malevolent beast almost seemed to laugh as he drank in their suffering, as the hell within him devoured their souls. The Watchika had thought to deny him, instead, their deaths had only hastened his ascension. A globe of swirling darkness appeared above the dragon's horned head. Bagan spread his crackling wings, grunting his terrible roar. Soon, soon he would have the power to annihilate the world, to consume every sentient soul on the planet, to savor their death and the torment of its advent.  
  
Yet, even as his victory seemed assured, a powerful blazing ball of fire slammed into Bagan's rock-like shoulder. The force of it was enough to divert Bagan's attention from the growing sphere of darkness. The demon turned to see what foolish creature desired death.  
  
There came from the west a mighty beast  
  
With a roar that shook the mountains  
  
Son of Atlantis, their noble champion  
  
A heart of courage, the mark of hero  
  
Kamerus  
  
Bagan's eyes met the yellow orbs of a huge armored shape. Product of the greatest Atlantean genetic engineering, Kamerus had been designed as their guardian. Encased within a shell as hard as tempered oryhalcon, the monster was the very visage of the huge turtle the legends of Atlantis claimed supported their island upon the ocean's waves. A ridge of spikes surrounded the underside of the monster's shell, while his clawed arms and legs emerged from circular openings in the armor. Kamerus' head was perched atop a thick neck. Great horns jutted away from above Kamerus' eyes while his face was dominated by a savage beak.  
  
Bagan roared again, even as Kamerus sent another fireball crashing into his chest. There was horror and the promise of death in that sound. It was a sound to test the courage of any being, be it god or monster. But Kamerus stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated, hissing his own rage at the wicked demon-dragon.  
  
The horns on Bagan's head crackled with energy, the central horn beginning to blaze like an inferno. From the horn, a jagged dancing blast of lightning lashed out, searing Kamerus' arm and causing the giant turtle to cry out in pain. Bagan chortled and pressed the attack, striding towards Kamerus and away from the swirling darkness, all the while lashing at the turtle monster again and again with his lightning.  
  
The deadly wrath of the aspect of the air element that had become a part of Bagan's corrupt form ravaged the body of Kamerus. The defender of Atlantis wailed in pain, slowly walking backwards, retreating away from the onslaught. Bagan savored the guardian's suffering, consuming it with relish and glee. Yes, he would make this creature suffer, this last victim before Bagan became the ultimate power on Earth.  
  
And, as Kamerus withdrew still further from the oncoming Bagan, as he continued to blast the terrible beast with his ineffectual fireballs, so too did Bagan put more and more distance between himself and the swirling sphere of darkness the death of the Watchika had allowed the dragon to call. There was a purpose in Kamerus' retreat. But would the demon see through that purpose?  
  
The East Wind tore across the mountains  
  
With a shriek of rage and fury  
  
Upon ebon wings of leather  
  
Soran, the Thunder Bird, the phoenix  
  
With the power of a hurricane, the wind slammed into Bagan's towering form as the giant Soran flew past him at a speed that blurred before the eye. The terrible slipstream sent boulders crashing down the slopes, but the tremendous mass of the demon-dragon was unmoved. The reptilian bird turned in mid-air, snarling at the demon, his fanged beak opened in a leering grimace, his scaly wings beating at the air furiously, trying in vain to unbalance Bagan. Bagan opened his great maw, displaying his own prodigious fangs and sent a blast of fiery destruction streaking at the Thunder Bird. Soran squawked in alarm, barely dodging the oncoming attack.  
  
Bagan glared at his enemies, Kamerus and Soran. They would fall, even such mighty foes as these would not be enough to stop him from becoming the embodiment of death, from scouring the world of life. The Chinese wizards had thought to lend their aid to the cause, sending the great phoenix to ally with the giant turtle of Atlantis, but the mighty Bagan sneered at their efforts. Soon, those who had sent the guardians to subdue him would join their champions in the infernal cauldron of the demon's soul.  
  
Bagan sent a steady stream of fire blasting at Soran and Kamerus, playing the current across the landscape, trying to catch both monsters in the gruesome destructive energy. The fire struck Kamerus, but the monster had already withdrawn into the safety of his tough, impenetrable shell. The scaly outer surface of the shell glowed red hot, but Bagan could not scorch the fragile flesh within. The angered demon began to stomp towards the besieged Kamerus.  
  
Away from the blazing sands  
  
Engulfed in a numberless swarm  
  
Living plague of the sorcerers  
  
Inagos, the Locust King  
  
A living tide of tiny flying forms flew at the demon's head. The tiny locusts blinded Bagan's eyes, then swarmed into his nostrils, flew down his throat. The great dragon halted in his relentless attack, paused as the living plague denied him air, as the chittering mandibles of billions of insects tore at his soft innards. Some distance away, a huge being descended upon brilliant, transparent wings. Its shape was that of a mammoth, bloated locust, its abdomen tipped by a wicked stinger dripping an evil-seeming fluid, its head flat with great bulging eyes on either side, and fang-like barbs jutting before its snapping mandibles. The huge insect was the color of sand, stripes of black marking the chitinous hide like that of some immense tiger. Inagos landed beside the beleagered Kamerus and uttered its drone-like cry of defiance at the staggering Bagan.  
  
For long moments, Bagan writhed, enduring the torment of the locust plague. The numberless legion did its work too well, ravaging the dragon's innards, driving him mad with pain. A great fire of anger blazed within Bagan, fury at his inability to escape his torment. The fire spread within him, incinerating the choking swarm. The wave of fire burned about Bagan like an aura, warping the air about him with its heat. Bagan snarled, spitting and snorting a mass of dust from his body, the ashes of Inagos' subjects.  
  
Determined not to give the dragon a chance to recover, Soran dove at Bagan, hissing his cry of battle. Soran spat a bolt of sonic destruction at Bagan, a blast of power that shimmered in the air as it sped at the monster. The blast staggered Bagan, but did not penetrate his armor of stone. Soran continued downwards and Bagan answered the phoenix's challenge, opening his great maw and sending a wvae of fiery death at the oncoming Thunder Bird. The fire struck Soran's gaping jaws, tearing into the phoenix's body, burning through the guardian's innards until at last it erupted from the monster's back with the fury of a volcano. Soran toppled from the sky, his dying body slamming into the side of a nearby mountain. Bagan watched the dying creature fall, sending a second blast of fire to scorch the corpse as it fell.  
  
Inagos and Kamerus took advantage of Soran's sacrifice, both guardians charging at Bagan while the demon was concentrating upon the Thunder Bird. Inagos struck Bagan in the back, the Locust King's stinger sinking deep into the demon's body, carrying with it the most potent venom the sorcerers of Egypt could devise. At the same time, Kamerus sent a steady stream of fireballs slamming into Bagan's horned head. The dragon roared in rage and pain, falling to the earth.  
  
Kameus and Inagos watched as the horrific beast's body convulsed in spasms of agony, the Locust King's stinger still embedded in the demon, still pumping poison into the monster's veins. Never before had any foe lasted so long, never had any creature survived so much of the deadly venom being introduced to its body. The Locust King continued to pump venom into the dragon, until at last Inagos' poison glands were unable to produce any more. As the venom sacs emptied, Bagan grew still. Kamerus took a step towards the dragon, studying the demon's frozen face, lifeless eyes. It seemed the poison had been successful.  
  
Armored eyelids snapped open as a clawed hand crackling with electrical energy slashed at Inagos' abdomen, separating the Locust King from that part of the insect still embedded in Bagan's body. Filthy ichor oozed from the hideous wound, ropes of pulpy organic matter streamed from the severed ends of Inagos' body. Before the pollution the dragon had invited into his soul, the dire poison of Inagos was nothing. So long as a steady stream of it had been pumped into Bagan's body, the dragon had been kept at bay. Now, there was nothing to hold him back.  
  
Even as Inagos crawled from the mortal wound dealt to it by Bagan, Kamerus reeled from a point-blank blast of electrical energy. The scaly face of the giant turtle was burned, his sharp beak singed and charred. Kamerus roared, sending another fireball slamming into Bagan's head. The fireball exploded against the stone armor, but it was not enough. Bagan lashed at Kamerus with his long tail, its tip ending in a bladed cudgel. Under the tremendous impact, Kamerus was knocked down, falling upon his back, limbs flailing in utter helplessness. Bagan seemed to laugh as he leered at the stricken champion of Atlantis.  
  
Death was in the air, and Bagan was its herald.  
  
Over the ocean waves  
  
From the land of fairies  
  
Harbinger of peace and hope  
  
Mothra  
  
Mothra appeared over the edge of the mountains, sending bolts of energy searing at the demon as he loomed over the struggling Kamerus. The energy lanced into Bagan's body, dealing his corrupt form far more pain than had any of his previous foes. The dragon roared in wrath, spitting a great gout of fire and flame at Mothra. The gigantic insect, with her rainbow hued wings, dodged the brutal attack, again uttering her shriek of anger. Bagan leered at Mothra, then turned his horned face downwards, gazing at the still struggling Kamerus.  
  
Bagan's claws gripped the edges of Kamerus' shell, top and bottom. The dragon looked again at the defiant Mothra, even as energy crackled about his claws. Mothra shrieked in horror as Kamerus' scream tore across the peaks, as Bagan ripped the shell apart, tearing the turtle from his armored hull. Kamerus flopped upon the ground, his naked, withered raw muscle gleaming in the sunlight. The intense agony of the turtle fed Bagan, filling his demonic soul with power. Again, Bagan roared his deep bellowing challenge at Mothra, promising the goddess a fate just as horrible. 


	7. VI - Return of the Dragon

Koumajutsu  
  
The Coming of Bagan  
  
By C. L. Werner  
  
Chapter VI:  
  
Return of the Dragon  
  
The larval Mothra slowly crept from the confines of her shelter. The insect eyes of the mammoth caterpillar gleamed with cunning and intelligence as they focused upon the huge armored beast sleeping just beyond the shelter. The larva knew that the sleeping beast would awaken at the slightest sound. Anguirus had proven a capable sentinel, heeding the commands instilled by the elder Mothra within his mind. The armored dinosaur had twice driven off the ever-hungry Baragon, forcing the ravenous brute to seek sustenance elsewhere. And Anguirus had even more often placed himself between the larva and her freedom, denying the larval Mothra its desire to follow after her parent.  
  
The larva was silent now. She had felt the incredible agony of the elder Mothra as she engaged the terrible Bagan in conflict. She could feel the life-force flickering within her mother, though she was far away. There was little the larva could do to aid her parent now, but what little she could, she would.  
  
With practiced silence, the caterpillar opened her mandibles. A spray of silk, stronger than steel, streamed from the larva's mouth, striking the slumbering dinosaur. For the better part of an hour, the larva sprayed Anguirus with the steely silk, not stopping until he was an unrecognizable hulk beneath a sheet of silk. Then, with a single mournful cry, the larva began to crawl towards the beach.  
  
Anguirus struggled beneath his prison, trying to stop the caterpillar from leaving. But even his great strength would take many hours to break through the encasing cocoon. Anguirus' bellow of anger and frustration rose from the web, muffled and distorted by the silk.  
  
Mothra could spare no time to consider the dinosaur's complaints. With utter determination, the grub-like larva splashed into the cool Pacific waters and began to swim away from Ogasawara, swimming towards the agony that beckoned her.  
  
The KNIFE team listened as Varga, the yeti continued to recite the ancient tale of Bagan's imprisonment, Princess Selina Salno acting as the humanoid's interpreter. The hour had faded, and the afternoon had become dusk, but still, all eyes were upon the yeti, all ears trained upon every word of the Princess.  
  
The mountains shuddered beneath his tread  
  
The ice cracked with his every step  
  
A stone heart within a stone breast  
  
Tuol  
  
Bagan turned from the wailing, dying shape of Kamerus, electricity gathering about his horns. The demon dragon glared at the yet defiant Mothra, snarling at this hateful presence of light and good. But even as he amassed his considerable powers to obliterate his foe, a harsh sound like the grinding together of two glaciers reached the demon's ears. Bagan turned his head, training his piercing gaze upon this latest of all adversaries. Rising from behind a small hill was a massive stone figure. Long had the Inca wizards labored upon the figure's construction, pouring their every last spell in their champion's birth. Many a bloody rite had consecrated the terrible effigy, a huge fanged beast of the jungle with a thorny crown. Even as sorcery fell before science in Atlantis, so did magic thrive in its former colony. Tuol had been crafted as a living god of war, and now the Inca rulers had found a most terrible battle to give their creation its baptism of fire.  
  
Tuol uttered his deep, rumbling groan once more; stomping towards Bagan with a shuddering tread that made the mountains quake. Bagan replied by lashing at the huge idol with the gathered electrical energies he had been preparing to savage Mothra with. The lightning crashed against the gigantic idol, causing it to stop. Tuol seemed to stare at Bagan with gem-like eyes. Then, as if reaching a decision, the idol brought his powerful fist crashing against the ground. A great crack opened, lancing across the battlefield and at last causing the mighty demon to stumble and fall. As Bagan dropped, Mothra swooped in, releasing a shimmering cloud of pollen from her wings, bathing the beast in the reflective spores.  
  
Bagan rose, snarling at both his adversaries. Lightning again crackled from his horns, but this time his fury found a far different target. The electrical energy struck the shimmering dust in the air, deflected by it back upon its source of origin. Bagan howled in pain as his own fury was focused back upon himself.  
  
Mothra chirped at the small triumph and Tuol continued to stomp towards the besieged demon. Bagan snarled at them both. The palms of his clawed hands began to glow with a molten fire, some of his rock-like brown hide dripping into balls of super-heated slag. With a grunt of anger, Bagan hurled the balls of magma at Mothra, catching her unawares as the solid projectiles passed through the veil of glittering pollen. One of the magma balls struck her in the wing, burning it savagely. Mothra shrieked in pain as her wing began to smoke. Disoriented by the sudden wound, Mothra landed, trying to stave off the agony. Bagan snarled and readied a second assault. A great blast of flames lanced into Bagan's body, and the demon staggered away, forgetting his attack on Mothra before this new threat.  
  
From the pits of darkness  
  
Far from the light  
  
Spawn of evil, slave of night  
  
Death Ghidorah  
  
A huge, four-legged beast glared at Bagan with a hate that nearly matched the demon's own. The monster was covered in harsh, angular plates of armor, his massive tail stretching behind him for dozens of meters. Each of the monster's legs ended in a massive clawed foot while two enormous wings rose from just behind the shoulders of the forelegs. Three horned heads, supported upon long, muscular necks, opened their fanged maws to trumpet in rage at Bagan. Long before, another terrible beast had thought to consume the world. From the depths of space, King Ghidorah had come, intent upon devouring the life of the planet. Mothra had battled the evil space demon, dropping the fiend into an active volcano, where he remained for many years before retreating back into the cold between the stars. But in that mighty battle, King Ghidorah had left something of himself behind, his severed tail. The tail burrowed deep below the ground, taking on a life of its own before it was discovered  
and enslaved by those who dwelled in the darkness. The wicked Mehars, reptilian rulers of the inner world of Pelucidar, had thought to use the horrific beast to conquer the surface world, to regain the empire King Ghidorah had forced them to abandon for the imagined safety of the inner world. But Bagan was too great a threat, and so, even the evil Mehars had come to an important decision, to join forces with those whom they thought to conquer, to add their ultimate weapon to the ranks of earth's guardians.  
  
Death Ghidorah roared again, his snake-like necks flailing in the chill air, his fin-backed tail lashing against the ground. Death Ghidorah was the bastard spawn of a space demon that had consumed entire worlds to feed his insatiable hunger. He fed upon death, savored death, thrived upon death. The evil beast sent another blast of thermal fire from his three mouths to engulf the form of Bagan. As the smoke cleared, the dragon stood, his rock-like armored hide glowing with heat, steam rising from his form.  
  
Death Ghidorah might feed upon death, but Bagan soon would be Death, and the hunger of the three-headed monster would not deny Bagan his dark ascension.  
  
Bagan snarled, his grunt rolling across the battlefield. A sheet of Bagan's own fire blasted into Death Ghidorah, causing the monster to rear up, wailing in pain. Bagan played the flame towards Mothra, narrowly missing the goddess as she swooped in for another attack. From behind him, the massive idol Tuol tore a gigantic hunk of rock from the craggy face of a mountain and hurled the projectile at Bagan. The makeshift missile crashed against Bagan's armored hide, crumbling against the suddenly electrified body of the dragon. Dust and rubble dripped from Bagan's shoulders, the debris still crackling with the dragon's electrified charge.  
  
Six came to defy Death  
  
Six came to thwart the Destroyer  
  
But triumph they could not  
  
Before they were seven  
  
Bagan slammed into Tuol, crashing against the stone monster's chest with his own massive shoulder. Tuol staggered from the impact, smashing his own rock-like fist against Bagan's jaw. Bagan snorted with pain, glaring at Tuol. With a great effort, Bagan grasped his enormous enemy about the waist, lifting the statue off the ground. With strength beyond belief, the demon lifted Tuol from the ground, hurling him from the dragon. Bagan favored the toppled guardian with an almost contemptuous hiss. Mothra and Death Ghidorah each attacked the dragon, energy and fire slamming into Bagan's armored form. But the dragon had tired of the battle, had become bored with his amusement. His clawed foot kicked the fading Kamerus from his path as he strode back towards the swirling vortex of blackness which hung in the sky.  
  
Upon the hills, overlooking the battle, the tiny Cosmo priestess shrieked. She again prayed and pleaded with the spirit of the Earth, again recited the ancient spells and incantations her ancestors had brought from a far away world. She fell, sagging upon the cold stones, the warmth fleeing her body. She could not know, as she died, that she had not died in failure.  
  
The energies she had awakened within the living planet obeyed the fallen priestess' intentions. Powerful forces began to merge and coalesce within the womb of the planet. From the dying Cosmo's mind, those energies took a form. The Earth itself added its power to the battle, the ground cracking asunder beneath the swirling aspect of death the demon would take and claim as his own. From that crevice crawled a shape not seen before, a newly born spirit, the embodiment of the planet's wrath, the protector of the Earth itself.  
  
In shape, it was like Mothra, though the elegance and beauty of the Cosmos' goddess had been rendered ugly and brutal, as befitted a being born for battle and retribution. A great horn rose from the insectile head while massive mandibles parted in a deep shriek of anger. Beams of energy danced from the beast's multi-faceted eyes, burning into Bagan's demonic form. The dragon bellowed in rage, but Battra stood his ground.  
  
Colonel Breen marched through the massive hanger. Secreted in a remote district of Devonshire, the hangar had once housed airships. Now, the enormous building had been called upon to repeat that role, though with a far different sort of airship.  
  
'Have the tests been run?' the British Colonel asked the man at his side. The Colonel's eyes never left the object of their discussion.  
  
'In simulation, Colonel,' replied the lab-coated engineer. 'We have yet to run any actual tests with the vehicle itself. It is not yet considered advanced to the point where it is safe enough to use a live crew.'  
  
Colonel Breen stopped walking. The officer's body seemed to swell with anger. Still staring at the airship, he spoke at the engineer from the side of his mouth.  
  
'Dammit man!' Breen snapped. 'Have you even seen any of the reports about what that thing is capable of! My God, they don't think that central Afghanistan will ever be habitable again! And, by all accounts, this Bagan devil has survived both Mothra's attack AND the Ruskies' orbital weapon! We need the Gryphon combat ready!'  
  
'Colonel, I appreciate your concerns, but the ship just isn't ready for the sort of test you are considering,' protested the engineer. 'For one thing, the French have yet to deliver the weapon's system they have been developing. For another thing...'  
  
'No excuses,' interrupted Colonel Breen. 'I want the Gryphon ready in two days. In two days I want a crew on her and that ship in the air and on its way to the Irish coast.' The Colonel turned away from the massive armored airship and turned his penetrating gaze upon the engineer. 'If you can't get it done, tell me and I will replace you with someone who can.'  
  
Bagan roared in fury and determination as he stalked toward the death force. Mothra's energy beams slammed into the dragon's back. Death Ghidorah's fires seared his chest. Battra's prism rays singed the dragon's body. Tuol sent gruesome energy of his own slithering from his gem-like eyes, causing organs deep within the dragon to hemorrhage, dark, foul blood streaming from Bagan's nostrils and mouth. Still, the demon made progress.  
  
Spectral flame engulfed the corpse of Soran, and a pillar of smoke rose into the sky. By degrees, the smoke took form. Soran, the phoenix, was reborn, birth from the ashes of death. The mighty Thunder Bird squawked at his killer and dove downwards, sending a sonic thunderbolt at his enemy. As he did so, the dying figures of Inagos and Kamerus summoned their last reserves of strength. Inagos latched onto Bagan's back, sinking his mandibles deep into the demon, fastening himself on the monster like some gigantic tick. Kamerus, with his dying breath, crawled into Bagan's path, though every inch the turtle moved sent spasms of torment lancing through his raw, exposed muscles. Kamerus locked his beak-like jaws about Bagan's foot.  
  
Bagan roared in rage, unable to move with the dead weight of Kamerus and Inagos holding him back. The great demon reached downwards, gripping the skull of Kamerus in his clawed hands. With gruesome effort, Bagan tore the turtle's skull apart, like a child crushing a dirt clod. At the same time, he sent electrical energy coursing into the enormous insect fastened upon his back. More and more power gathered within the body of the locust king until, with a wailing cry, the once dreaded Inagos burst, spraying the combat zone with pulpy yellow ichor.  
  
Bagan advanced once more, but now the attacks of his enemies were having a telling effect. Soran dove into Bagan, slamming his talons into the demon's eyes. One eye was torn from Bagan's head; the other blinded by a glancing slash. But the attack had not been without a price. In attacking Bagan's face, Soran had impaled himself upon the dragon's central horn. Soran cackled a last mournful cry as his body again withered and perished. This time, there would be no rebirth, as Bagan's demonic soul devoured that of the slain Soran, adding it to the captured essences of Kamerus, Inagos and the Watchika. But it was still not enough.  
  
Battra loomed before Bagan, roaring defiance. The dark energies of death began to stream toward the dragon as he called out to them. Battra lunged forward, his own horn piercing Bagan's breast, repeating the terrible fate that had claimed Soran. Bagan snarled at his attacker, but it was a sound not so fierce as before. The dragon's mighty claws closed about Battra's head, ripping it from the worm-like body. Still, the horn glowed with energy and seared the blackened heart it had pierced. With a sound like the shuddering death rattle of a star, Bagan cried out. The dragon's body pitched to the ground, crashing with a force felt across three continents. Bagan, the lord of doom, was dead.  
  
There was not much time, those who had observed the battle decided, to do what must be done. Wizards, priests and sorcerers from across the globe gathered before the terrible dragon's body. They knew that Bagan had fused his soul with that of a demon. They knew that such an unholy merging could have granted the beast a power beyond the mortal. Even as the chanted, prayed and invoked, every one of them feared the slightest movement from the mammoth corpse.  
  
As the gathered mages cast their mighty spell, the body of Bagan began to wither, to lessen as their magic drained off the powerful energies the demon had claimed as his own. The energies were gathered, crystallizing and becoming five great gems, each flawless. Each was the heart of the dragon, for without them, Bagan was no more. The water of life became a sapphire. The fires of destruction became a monstrous ruby. The dreams of the air became a huge diamond. The armor of the earth was a giant emerald. The avatar of death, that terrible power that Bagan had yet to fully assume gathered within a huge sphere of blackest pitch, a block of obsidian. Each of the gems was entrusted to pious and holy men, chosen to take their gruesome burdens to the wilds of the land and there to hide them. The much reduced body of Bagan was carried by Tuol into a shallow cave, where, over time, the waters of the mountains gathered and froze. The last vestige of the awful dragon beast became the  
heart of a glacier.  
  
The Meh-teh empire was destroyed, its last vestiges gathering on the battlefield to construct one last city, the hidden monastery-citadel of Shangri-La, a forbidden fortress whose inhabitants guarded the living tomb of the would-be executioner of the world.  
  
The story had been long in the telling. The defeat of Bagan was related in the small hours of the morning, when darkness yet ruled the land. Varga bowed before the assembled foreigners and again at the seated Princess Salno.  
  
'It is an ancient story,' Varga explained in his harsh voice. 'But it has been handed down from every generation of my people with the utmost care, so that not a word has changed since it was first passed from one yeti to another. Now, it seems, there will no longer be a way for this tradition to continue.'  
  
'You must have many questions,' Princess Salno said. 'I shall try to answer them if I may.'  
  
'The creature, this Kamerus,' asked Kenji Yamane. 'He sounds much like the monster Gamera who appeared in my homeland not many years ago.'  
  
'Yes,' replied the Princess. 'Atlantis was a mighty nation. But they grew too proud and too certain of their own wisdom. From the start, it was known that seven would be needed to defeat Bagan. The Meh-teh had no guardian to pit against Bagan. The others nations of the world all sent their own champions, all save Mu. Mu was defended by a great serpent, a creature sharing its kinship with the dragons, and called Manda. But Mu was a pacifist nation and refused to commit its champion in what its philosopher regents considered an act of aggression. Without Mu, the magic number could not be completed, and so it was only by the sacrifice of the Lemurian priestess and the creation of Battra that Bagan was overcome. The outrage of Mu's determined non-violence smoldered long in Atlantis. They developed a terrible weapon to avenge themselves upon Mu.'  
  
'The Gyaos,' gasped Aaron Vaught. 'The Gyaos were created as a weapon to destroy Mu!' Princess Salno nodded sadly.  
  
'Yes, but the Gyaos could not be controlled. After laying waste to Mu, they returned to the shores that bore them. The Atlanteans quickly created Gamera, patterning him after Kamerus, but their second champion was completed too late to save their society...'  
  
'How can Battra have been created to fight Bagan,' Aaron Vaught wondered. 'We had been told he was created to destroy Mothra.'  
  
'The Earth spirit that was given form as Battra replenishes itself each time it is destroyed,' answered Princess Salno. 'Bagan perished before he could consume Battra's soul, but Battra did not take on a physical form again until the Earth was once more in danger. He fought Mothra to try to thwart the Lemurian's attempt to control the earth's weather systems. More recently, though he remembered his rivalry with his one-time foe, he awakened to destroy a comet heading towards the Earth.'  
  
'These legends and tales are all well and good,' stated Peter Daxton, 'but what we need is a way to stop Bagan today.'  
  
'It took seven mighty guardians to thwart him in the past,' said Princess Salno, gravely. 'It shall take seven to do so again. And where can seven such champions be found?'  
  
'Then perhaps all we can pray for is that Bagan never emerges from his hole,' Philip Roche whispered, almost under his breath.  
  
Crimson mists rose from the pit. The Afghans began to shrink away in terror. One Arab man, wearing the tattered raiment of a cleric rose, urging those around him to remain calm. Fiery rhetoric dribbled from the swarthy man's bearded chin. But the fire in his words was soon overwhelmed by an even greater fire.  
  
The pulsating cocoon burst open with the fury of a nuclear blast. Five square miles were consumed in the violence of the cocoon's breaking open. Even from space, the bright flash of destruction could be seen. Men standing within the shockwave were reduced to ash, their shadows seared into sands that had turned to glass. Winds howled in the aftermath of the explosion, rushing in to replace the vacuum created by the intense heat.  
  
And, in the midst of the display, a monstrous figure rose, his gray-plates glistening in the sunlight. Bagan's fanged mouth opened in a silent roar. Death was loosed upon the world once more. Kato watched as the dragon began to stomp eastwards. The necromancer's lips parted and his laughter rolled across the ruined desolation, only a few naked, leering skulls hearing the sound.  
  
There is a blighted place in a wild and desolate region of Japan. Once known as Kishuyu, it is a haunted and shunned land, with many abandoned temples and neglected shrines. The dead, they say, walk the deserted paths, accusing all they encounter for their neglected graves. It is an evil and loathsome region, and few sane men call it home.  
  
A thin figure, like a living skeleton, grinned above the small fire that blazed beneath him. The crippled roof of a dilapidated shrine kept the rain from falling upon the skeleton's black-capped head. Old and feeble, the man cackled with glee as the fat rat he had caught and impaled upon a sharp stick slowly cooked within his fire.  
  
Darkness had always been a part of Eiji's life. Youngest son of a Shinto priest, Eiji had chosen a different path for himself. It had been many years since he had first embraced the darkness, first learned the first minor evocations that established his affinity with the realm of magic. It had been nearly half a century since the man Eiji had been had become the black magician and sorcerer he now was.  
  
Eiji suddenly looked up, the nostrils of his old and withered face flaring, as though smelling the air. There was indeed a smell, though no scent any earthly nose could scent. Rather, there was a spectral change in the air. An act of great evil had happened somewhere, draining off the Earth's shroud of protective manna energy. Only the most powerful of men were able to perform feats of sorcery under the manna shield. But, with the shield gone...  
  
Eiji's toothless mouth spread in a wide and diabolic grin. He stretched his clawed hand outwards. The rat leapt from his fire, scurrying away into the night, its meat still dripping from its bones in a stream of grease, the impaling stick still piercing its form. The black sorcerer laughed again.  
  
Yes, there was a change in the air. Eiji hastened to the back of the shrine and began to gather his belongings. He would have to leave this place, return to the company of men and learn what great calamity had changed the Earth's manna energy.  
  
Learn what had caused it, and learn how Eiji could put that to his own advantage. 


	8. VII - The Seeds of Tomorrow

Koumajutsu  
  
The Coming of Bagan  
  
By C. L. Werner  
  
Chapter VII:  
  
The Seeds of Tomorrow  
  
'As he comes within range, all batteries open fire!' the swarthy general in the dun-colored fatigues roared into the radio transmitter within his command tank. At the general's command, over seven hundred pieces of armor and five hundred stationary howitzers and missile launchers took aim. The force consisted principally of Pakistani and Indian troops, though a smattering of British, Canadian and American troops were also present. The Allied command was led by General Jidar Jinnah, a supposed descendent of Pakistan's founder. Even the troops from India, some of them fresh from the disputed Kashmir region, had been ordered to follow the Pakistani general's orders. Each of them knew that if the enemy could not be stopped in Pakistan, nothing would keep him from proceeding into the interior of India and the great cities teaming with millions of Indians.  
  
Stalking through the desert was a beast, a horror from a thousand nightmares. His armored scales gleamed in the dull sunlight that snaked its way through the clouds of soot and ash rising from the ruins burning in the demon's wake. A US F-18 fired a salvo of missiles at the brute, napalm cascading across the monster's chest. By way of response, the horned head of the monster turned, a gout of searing flame lashing from his fanged jaws to engulf the fighter utterly. Molten droplets of metal rained down across the desert.  
  
Bagan turned his attention again to the assembled mass of weaponry. The monster's head reared backwards and he uttered a bellow that shook the courage of every man in the strike force. To some, it was nothing less than the laughter of the Devil himself. For many, it was the last thing they would ever hear.  
  
Kato Yasunori watched with mild amusement as the dragon-demon advanced upon the assembled forces. A salvo of shells and missiles impacted against the mammoth beast's body, momentarily causing Bagan's upper torso to disappear in smoke and flame. But when the smoke and flame cleared away, the monster was unharmed. The necromancer was not surprised. Bagan would kill these fools, devour their souls within the burning kiln of his demonic heart. This was a delay, nothing more. There was nothing any man could do to stop Bagan, and so, there was nothing any man could do to save Tokyo from obliteration.  
  
Kato rose into the air, like a puppet rising upon invisible strings. There was nothing for the necromancer to do here. He had business elsewhere. Kato knew where the next shard of Bagan's evil soul would be found, where the monster was even now advancing toward. The sorcerer would reach there first, secure the fragment and deliver it up to the demon. Then Bagan would be doubly within his power, and the hours left to Tokyo reduced to but a handful of moments stolen from doom.  
  
The necromancer disappeared within a cloud of smoke and death. The slaughter of the valiant troops by Bagan continued unabated.  
  
Despot Vladimir Vasalov read through the massive pile of reports piled upon his massive desk. The Russian ruler glared at the latest figures from Afghanistan, the tally of dead, the destruction wrought by both Bagan and the Russian orbital weapon Perun's Axe. Ever since the attack, letters had been arriving from around the world. Most were of condemnation for allowing such a weapon to be employed, some were letters begging that the Russians try again. Many of these came from countries that appeared most imperiled by the monster's advance.  
  
Vasalov took a belt from the bottle of vodka standing upon the desk and looked over at the nervous military aide standing near the door of his study.  
  
'I will see him now,' the great bear of a man growled. The aide hurried to follow his leader's command.  
  
A moment after the aide departed, a short Oriental man with thick glasses and a dark suit entered the room. The dignitary bowed formally and advanced toward the Despot's desk. Vasalov gestured with a huge paw of a hand and the dignitary seated himself.  
  
'I am very pleased that you agreed to see me, Excellency,' the ambassador said. 'It goes far to show your commitment to my country and its concerns.'  
  
'I am not some degenerate democracy spouting politico!' Vasalov snarled. 'I don't care about your country or its concerns! I care about my people and their concerns! If you think that you may buy favor with me, I will beat you black and blue and send you back to your masters on the proverbial slow boat!'  
  
The dignitary remained undisturbed by the Russian despot's outburst. The man's voice remained even and deferential. 'The concerns of China should be your concerns,' the ambassador said, quietly, without any tone of annoyance. 'After all, there are three-hundred thousand Chinese soldiers staged along your border as we speak.'  
  
'The Devil you say!' roared Vasalov, rising from his chair, sending it clattering against the floor. The Chinese ambassador favored the Russian with a slight smile.  
  
'The demands of my government are simple, Excellency,' the ambassador said. 'If the monster Bagan turns toward our country, you are to protect us. You will use the orbital weapon and destroy the beast before he is within our borders.'  
  
'Otherwise?' Vasalov snarled, clenching his fist.  
  
'The monster Bagan is entirely capable of destroying my country, Excellency. Our leaders do not feel that China possesses anything that can stop him. With that being the case, we would have nothing to loose by avenging our nation's loss upon an idle neighbor who refused to help us in our hour of need.'  
  
'Have you seen pictures of what the weapon did in Afghanistan?' Vasalov protested. 'If we use it again the destruction would be...'  
  
'Confined to an insignificant country outside China's borders,' the ambassador finished for the Despot.  
  
'I can't authorize using Perun's Axe again,' Vasalov said, taking another swig from his bottle of vodka.  
  
'On the contrary, Excellency,' the Chinese ambassador said, 'you will.'  
  
A great brown mass scrambled from the jungle shadows. The scaly monster's horned snout sniffed at the large object resting upon the sand. Baragon let a low, hungry growl issue from his fanged jaws as he identified the scent and his feral mind decided that it was food. Baragon leaned downwards, his horn inches away from the silk-encased form.  
  
Suddenly a clawed paw burst from the massive cocoon. Unprepared for the attack, Baragon was taken completely by surprise. The black claws slashed the greedy monster's rat-like muzzle. Thick blood oozed from the wound and Baragon let a high-pitched cry of pain escape from his jaws. The armored monster leaped away from his would-be prey and the howling creature began to burrow into the side of a nearby cliff. Soon, Baragon's long tail was chasing after him into the darkness of a freshly dug tunnel.  
  
The clawed paw that had struck Baragon continued to rip away the thick, steel-like cables of silk. After a seeming eternity, the creature they were attached to emerged from the debris. The monster raised his reptilian head, searching the shore of the island with his eyes. At last, the spike-backed creature hooted a low, mournful cry.  
  
Anguirus advanced toward the water, his senses telling him that the creature he sought had left by means of the sea. There was another urge driving him on, a new instinct motivating him. A mental impulse had been imprinted upon his mind by the departed Mothra to guard her offspring. Now that same impulse was leading Anguirus to pursue the escaped caterpillar.  
  
The spike-backed monster swam slowly away from Ogasawara Island. He paused at the invisible fence constructed by the scientists of Monsterland to keep the Supersaurs from escaping. The sonic transmitter rattled Anguirus' brain, causing the mutated dinosaur enormous pain. But there was something else motivating him now, and it was more powerful than the agony of the sonic transmitter. Blood pouring from his nose, his tail twitching in spasms of pain, Anguirus broke through the invisible barrier. The spike-backed monster swam on, drawn onwards toward the mainland of Asia and the fledgling monster that he was driven to protect.  
  
'Seven great beasts to defeat one demon,' the elderly wizard Hoichi mused aloud. The first faint rays of dawn were slithering into the throne-room of Princess Salno. The KNIFE team members had been discussing the demon Bagan and how to destroy the creature all night.  
  
'Our best bet was Mothra,' Kenichi Yamane said. 'But she tried to fight the monster on her own. And was defeated.'  
  
'Gamera has not been seen since his battle with Legion,' Daxton commented. 'There are reports that he is dead, even.'  
  
'Godzilla, or the other monsters from Ogasawara?' Philip Roche observed.  
  
'Doubtful. Do you honestly think that we could exert any sort of control over Dr. Mafune's monsters?' Kenichi Yamane adjusted his glasses. 'Baragon would be just as likely to eat everybody before Bagan could consume them. Rodan is still weak from the battle at the Hachiman Building, and, again, we have no way to control him.'  
  
'And Godzilla himself has not been seen since the battle in Sapporo with the Devil Fish and that strange giant,' Aaron Vaught added.  
  
'So that leaves us with nothing,' Peter Daxton observed, shaking his head in frustration. 'Perhaps a normal military solution is the only way.'  
  
'Bagan survived the Russian solar cannon,' Hoichi quietly protested. 'If that failed to kill him, I don't think anything built by man stands a chance.'  
  
'Perhaps,' said the seated monarch of Selgia.  
  
'You have some insight, Princess?' asked Aaron Vaught.  
  
'The royal family of Selgia is noted for the gift of prophecy. At times, I am able to see glimpses of the path that might be, of things that have yet to pass.' Princess Salno smiled grimly.  
  
'What you have seen is not good?' Peter Daxton asked.  
  
'The world is at the end of an age. A new era lies before us. For good or for ill, the world we have known is past. It is not by the deeds of gods or demons, monsters or dragons, that the old age has ended. Nor is it such beings that shall decide the course of the new age that is to be. It is by the actions of weak and mortal men that the balance may be tipped, one way or the other.' Princess Salno's face became pale, her voice but a whisper.  
  
'In my dreams I have seen the monster, Bagan, standing in triumph amidst the carcasses of the world's defenders. I have heard the laughter of the demon.' The proclamation of doom seemed to chill the room. 'But even so, I saw a silver bird racing forward, to undo the necromancer's black sorcery with its true bane. Yet here my vision failed and of the victory or defeat of that dark hour, the prophecy did not say.'  
  
'Then Kato will succeed?' Hoichi said, his voice cracked, his face downcast.  
  
'Only the deeds of weak and mortal men will tell,' the Princess decreed.  
  
Lora looked skywards, her slender hand patting the head of the chirping Fairy Mothra. Garugaru and his two tiny riders were visible as only a tiny speck, and soon even this was gone. Lora watched her sisters depart with great misgiving. Belvera had come to gloat over Mothra's defeat, but also to propose a dangerous and unthinkable course of action. To destroy Bagan, the black Elias had suggested releasing a horror almost as terrible. Belvera could not do it on her own, otherwise she would have done so long ago. She needed one of her sisters to help her, to undo the wards Moll and Lora had helped Mothra lay down years ago.  
  
Moll was the stronger of the two 'light' sisters, so she had decided to accompany Belvera, rationalizing that she would be better able to see through the wicked fairy's deceptions. But Lora wondered what deception her dark sister could be plotting. She had already asked them to help her in an awful task, and they, in their desperation, had agreed.  
  
Nearby, the ravaged body of Mothra let out a mournful cry, as though she could sense what her priestesses had agreed to do. Lora looked over at Mothra, a look of shame and guilt etched upon her face. Tears rolled down Lora's cheeks.  
  
'Please,' she pleaded, 'there was no other way. You are too weak to stop Bagan now.' By way of answer, Mothra let another dirgue-like cry echo across the desert waste.  
  
Lora looked again at the sky. She wondered how long it would take Belvera's cyborg dragonet to fly the many leagues to the island of Hokkaido. How long it would be before her sisters stood at the prison of Death Ghidorah.  
  
The wizened old man looked almost like a rasin. His skin was dark, baked by the harsh tropical sun. For clothing, he wore only a white linen wrap about his waist that descended to his knees. The man's arms and legs were thin, his ribs peaking through his stretched, parchment-like skin. The man squatted within an open-air pavilion, bordered on three sides by ancient columns of a bygone dynasty. The temple city had long been left in ruins, its only denizens the solitary hermit-like holymen who came here. At this time that man was Kush, but he had been here for over forty years and the time would soon come when another would take the elderly fakir's place and he would be allowed to add his bones to those of the generations that had come before him.  
  
Kush sat, his eyes closed, his breath short as he meditated. He might have been emulating Buddha, remaining so still as to provide a refuge for wandering snails. But the holyman's mind was alert, his sightless vision aware of his surroundings.  
  
'There is nothing for you here, demon,' the Hindu said, his eyes still closed, his body still locked in its meditation posture. 'Go back into the darkness of your black deeds and profane not places of enlightment.'  
  
'I shall leave when I will,' sneered the tall figure standing at the edge of the pavilion.  
  
The fakir stood, his old eyes opening to turn upon Kato's uniformed figure. The eyes were white as milk, yet the dim pupils focused upon the Japanese necromancer.  
  
'I know what you seek,' Kush declared, 'but you will not have it. Leave while you may.'  
  
'I have traveled far to come here, old fool,' Kato snarled. 'I will leave with what I have come here to find.'  
  
'Then you have come here to find death,' the Hindu fakir said. With supernatural speed, the old Indian leaned down to the ground and rose again, an antique crossbow clutched in his gnarled hands. In the same motion, he fired the weapon. There was a flash of light and an iron dart sped across the pavilion. The missile struck the necromancer in the center of the chest with a sound that spoke of crunching bone and shredding flesh. The necromancer staggered backwards several paces, his white gloved hands closing about the missile buried in his body.  
  
Then Kato began to laugh.  
  
'I am no Rakshasa, old fool,' Kato hissed, tearing the bolt from his chest and snapping it in his hand. 'It will take more than your feeble weapon to deny me!' The necromancer gestured and one of the tall columns near the fakir suddenly fell, descending upon the holyman. Kush disappeared in a cloud of dust as the heavy stone crashed into the ground.  
  
When the dust cleared, the Hindu was standing at the center of the pillar. The stone had disintegrated around him, leaving the man unharmed. Kato stared in disbelief. Then he smiled as he understood what had saved the mystic. The Hindu brought the giant glowing diamond, its flawless surface resembling that of a carved dragon, from the small leather pouch he wore about his neck.  
  
'The heart of the dragon,' Kato said, eyes glinting with desire. 'Then you have learned some of its powers.'  
  
'I have learned enough to know that it must never enter the hands of your kind,' the Hindu returned. 'You shall not have it while I yet live.'  
  
Kato's face twisted into a demonic leer of inhuman malignancy.  
  
'I would not have it any other way.'  
  
Katagiri looked again at the reports resting upon his desk. The head of the CCI shook his head in disbelief. The military might that had been assembled to thwart Bagan's advance through Pakistan and into India had been immense. Yet, by all counts, Bagan had decimated 80% of those who had opposed him, and the demon himself had not been harmed. Indeed, latest satellite photos showed him marching relentlessly towards the border of Thailand. The latest news from the Thai government had been discouraging as well. They had decided not to confront Bagan, in hopes that the monster would continue on his way, not deviate towards any of their major cities. What the beast might do to their neighbors was of no concern to the Thai government. Meanwhile there were dispatches from the governments of Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia begging the Japanese government to aid them in destroying the monster. Parliament was even now voting to send the Super X-3 to the region, removing another weapon from  
the defense of Japan.  
  
And it would come to that. The strange wizard Hoichi had stated that Bagan was in the control of some century-old necromancer named Kato who had a vendetta against Tokyo. Hoichi had insisted that Bagan's ultimate goal would be the capital of Japan.  
  
'To fight the Devil,' a scratchy voice intruded upon Katagiri's thoughts, 'be a devil yourself.'  
  
Katagiri looked up, scanning his office with his tired eyes to see who had entered the room unannounced. But there was nothing, only shadows. Then, from a shadow far too small and faint to conceal anything, a man emerged.  
  
He was gaunt, almost a living skeleton. The man was dressed all in black, a black robe that came to his ankles, black sandals upon his feet. A round black cap topped the man's skull-like head, wisps of dirty gray hair streaming from beneath it. The man's mouth spread in a toothless grin, his blazing eyes turning upon the seated politician.  
  
'Before you ask, my name is Eiji,' the sorcerer declared. 'My family disowned me long ago, so I have no other name. If you must bestow another title upon me, let it be Kishuyu. I am here to help you.'  
  
'Wh... what are you?' Katagiri stammered.  
  
Eiji's ghastly grin grew still wider. He gestured with a claw-like hand and the computer upon Katagiri's desk began to distort. As Katagiri watched, the plastic frame of the machine began to bubble and run like melting wax. The flowing plastic oozed across the desk, forming the katakana characters of Eiji's name.  
  
'I am a sorcerer,' Eiji stated, his voice low and confidential. 'And I am here to offer my services to the defense of our homeland.' A sinister sparkle gleamed in Eiji's eyes. 'If you will let me, that is.'  
  
Katagiri licked his lips nervously, but rose to his feet. He extended his hand towards the black-garbed sorcerer. Eiji's claw-like talon closed upon the politician's hand.  
  
Katagiri fought the urge to vomit as the dead flesh touched his own. 


End file.
